PRESEf^TED  BY 


CLASS 


OOK 


KING'S  DAUGHTERb 


^ 


"■'*-*,  .-^ 


^       Palmyra,  N.  Y. 


THE    POEMS 


Sir  John  Suckling 


CJFiti)  ^rrface  anQ  :>fotPS 


EDITED    BY 


FREDERICK    A.    STOKES 


SECOA^'D  EDITION 


l!:^tPM-rL„,,:n 


r 


-_J 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  &  BROTHER 


MDCcri.xxyv 


REPLACING 


COPYRIGHT,    1886, 
BY  WHITE,   STOKES,   &  ALLEN. 


CONTENTS 


Ivi8e8478 


(Facsimile  of  Sir  John  Suckling's  Sign  a  ture.) 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE, xiii 

SONGS, 

'•  Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover  ?  "  3 

"  I  prithee  send  me  back  my  heart,"    .  5 

A  Song  to  a  Lute,          ....  7 

The  honest  Lover,         ....  8 

The  careless  Lover,        .        .        .        .  11 

"  The  crafty  boy  that  had  full  oft  es- 

say'd,"      ......  14 

"When,  dearest,  I  but  think  of  thee,"  16 

Prince  Thersames's  Song,       .        .        .  18 

"  I  prithee  spare  me,  gentle  boy,"        ,  20 
"Unjust    decrees,    that    do    at    once 

exact," 22 

"If  you  refuse  me  once,  and   think 

again,"     ......  24 


CONTENTS, 


VERS  n   OCCASION. 

A  Ballad  upon  a  Wedding,   ...  31 

Upon  my  Lord  Broghill's  Wedding,     .  37 

To  a  Lady  that  forbade  to  love  before 

Company, ^o 

Upon  the  black  Patches  worn  by  my 

Lady  D.  E., 42 

Upon  the  first  Sight  of  my  Lady  Sey- 
mour  ,  44 

Upon   my  Lady  Carlisle's  walking   in 

Hampton  Court  Garden,        .        .  45 

To  my  Lady  E.  C.  at  her  going  out  of 

England, 47 

On  New  Year's  Day,  1640,     ...  49 

To  my  Lord  Lepington  upon  his  Trans- 
lation of  Malvezzi,  ....  52 
To  Will.  Davenant  upon  his  Poem  of 

"  Madagascar,"        .        .        .        .  5$ 

To  Will.    Davenant   upon    his  other 

Poems, 57 

To  Will.  Davenant  for  Absence,  .        .  58 

Sir.  John  Suckling's  Answer,        .        .  60 

Upon  Sir.   John  Laurence's   bringing 


CONTENTS, 


VII 


Water  over  the  Hills  to  my  Lady 

Middlesex's  House  at  Witten,       .  63 

POUR  L' AMOUR. 

Perjuiy  excused,     .....  67 

Love's  Burning-glass,     ....  63 

The  Miracle, 69 

A  Supplement  of  an  imperfect  Cop}'- 
of  Verses  of  Mr.  William  Shake- 
speare's,     70 

Love's  World, 'J2i 

"That  none  beguiled  be  by  Time's  quick 

flowing," 73 

The  Invocation, 80 

The  Expostulation,        ....  82 

Detraction  execrated,  ....  84 

Love's  Representation,  ...  Z^ 

Non  est  mortale  quod  opto,     ...  90 

Upon  two  Sisters,  ....  92 

To  his  Rival,  ......  94 

"  My  dearest  rival,  lest  our  love,"  .        .  97 

CONTRE  L' AM  OUR, 


Love  and  Debt  alike  troublesome, 


103 


Vlll 


CONTENTS, 


The  constant   Lover.     (A 

Poem 

with 

the  Answer),    . 

. 

io6 

Love  turned  to  Hatred, 

• 

109 

Verses,     .... 

. 

III 

The  Siege  of  a  Heart,    . 

. 

113 

Loving  and  Beloved, 

. 

116 

The  Discomfort  of  Love, 

. 

118 

The  Metamorphosis, 

. 

119 

Against  Absence,  . 

. 

120 

Against  Realization, 

. 

122 

No  exclusive  Property  in  '. 

^ove,   . 

124 

A  play  at  Barley-break, 

. 

126 

The  guiltless  Inconstant, 

. 

128 

Farewell  to  Love,  . 

•        • 

130 

CHANSONS  BACHIQUES, 


*'  A  hall,  a  hall  to  welcome  our  friend,"  137 

"  Come,  let  the  State  stay,"  .        .        .  138 

"  She's  pretty  to  walk  with,"         .        .  139 
[   "  That  box,  fair  mistress,  which  thou 

gav'st  to  me,"  .        .        .        .  139 

"  Fill  it  up,  fill  it  up  to  the  brink,"       .  140 

"  Some  candles  here ! "  .        .       .  140 


CONTENTS.  ix 

"  Come,  come  away,  to  the  tavern,  I 

say," 141 

FRAGMENTS  FROiM  THE  DRAMAS. 

"  This  moiety  war,"        .        .        .        .  145 
"  Bring  them,  bring  them,  bring  them 

in," 145 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  mortal  wight,"  .  146 

"  O,  what  a  day  was  here ! "  .       .  146 

SONNETS. 

"  Dost  see  how  unregarded  now,"        .  149 
"  Of  thee,  kind  boy,  I  ask  no  red  and 

white," 150 

"  O,  for  some  honest  lover's  ghost,"     .  151 

TRANSLATIONS. 

Desdain^          .        .        ,        .        .        ,         157 
^^  El  UEV  ^v  ixc^elv" 160 

MISCELLANIES. 

His  Dream 165 

An  Answer  to  some  Verses  made  in  his 

Praise, 167 


CONTENTS. 


A  poetical  Epistle,         .        ,        .        .  169 

A  Sessions  of  the  Poets,       .        .        .  172 

A  Barber, 181 

A  Pedlar  of  Smallwares,        .        .        .  183 

PROLOGUES  AND  EPILOGUES.  . 

A  Prologue  to  a  Masque  at  Witten,     ,  187 

Prologue  to  Aglaura,  .        .        ,  1S8 

Prologue  for  the  Court  (Aglaura),     .  190 

To  the  King  (Aglaura),      .       .       .  192 

Epilogue  to  Aglaura,         .        .        .  193 

Epilogue  for  the  Court  (Aglaura),     .  195 
Prologue  to  Aglaura  presented  at  the 

Court, 196 

Prologue  for  the  Court  (Aglaura  pre- 
sented at  the  Court),      .        .        .  198 
Epilogue  to  Aglaura  presented  at  the 

Court,       ...,,.  200 

Prologue  to  The  Goblins,  .       .       .  201 

Epilogue  to  The  Goblins,   .       .       .  203 

NOTES 207 


PREFACE 


PREFACE 

The  fascinating  verse  of  Sir  John  Suckling, 
courtier  and  wit,  has  not  been  accessible  to  the 
general  reader  because  of  the  scarcity  or  high 
price  of  the  various  editions.  The  present  is  the 
only  collection  of  his  poems  which  has  been 
published  in  this  country.  Of  comparatively  re- 
cent English  editions,  that  of  1836,  v/ith  its  pon- 
derous memoir  by  the  poet's  worthy  relative,  the 
Rev.  Alfred  Suckling,  is  somewhat  scanty,  omit- 
ting many  verses  which  are  given  here;  while 
that  of  1874,  on  the  contrary,  is  objectionable 
because  of  its  retention  of  many  lines  and  v/hole 
poems  which  are  altogether  unfit  for  modern 
readers,  and  which  do  not  appear  in  this  volume. 

In  the  garden  of  Suckling's  verse,  side  by 
side  with  rare  blossoms  of  delightful  fragrance, 
grew  unsightly  and  noisome  weeds.    Of  course 


XIV  PREFA  CE. 

they  were  affected  by  their  surroundings  and  by 
the  unnatural  light  of  his  court  and  his  time ; 
but  some  of  his  writings  outrage  the  taste  or 
morality  of  to-day. 

He  is,  however,  although  not  as  widely 
read  or  known  as  he  should  be,  one  of  the 
immortals  in  literature,  and  had  he  v/ritten  no- 
thing but  "A  Ballad  upon  a  Wedding"  and 
the  song  beginning  "  Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond 
lover,"  he  would  have  earned  his  immortality. 
Their  simplicity,  grace,  and  wit  are  unmatched 
and  are  peculiarly  his  own.  Their  flavor  is  most 
rare :  it  delights  at  once,  and  is  never  forgotten. 

The  path  v/hich  Suckling's  verse  takes  never 
scales  sublime  heights,  but  runs  through  fields 
w^here  music  and  laughter  are  heard,  where 
beauty  is  seen,  and  where — there  are  occasional 
stormy  days.  His  imagination  never  awes,  nor 
does  his  feeling  stir  us  deeply;  but  his  fancy 
pleases  us,  his  wit  and  gayety  provoke  a  smile, 
and  his  careless  ease  and  grace  charm  us. 

He  conforms  thoroughly  to  the  conditions 
laid  down  for  the  truly  successful  Vvritcr  of 
I'irs  dc  socziHi^   by  Frederick  Locker,  himself  a 


PREFACE.  XV 

poet  whose  lines  give  us  more  pleasure  than 
those  of  any  other  living  writer  of  "  this  peculiar 
species  of  exquisitely  rounded  and  polished 
verse."  Mn  Locker  says:  "  He  must  not  only 
be  more  or  less  of  a  poet,  but  he  must,  also,  be 
a  man  of  the  world,  in  the  most  liberal  sense  of 
the  expression ;  he  must  have  mixed  throughout 
his  life  with  the  most  refined  and  cultivated 
members  of  his  species,  not  merely  as  an  idle 
bystander,  but  as  a  busy  actor  in  the  throng." 
Suckling  was  a  poet  and  a  dramatist,  a  great 
favorite  at  the  court  of  Charles  I.^  the  intimate 
of  the  wits,  the  reigning  belles  and  beaux,  the 
notables  of  the  day,  and  was  an  active  partici- 
pant in  affairs  of  state  previous  to  the  execution 
of  Strafford. 

Sir  John  Suckling  (also  spelled  variously, 
Sutclin,  Sutlin,  Sutcling,  Sutling)  was  born 
at  Whitton,  county  of  Middlesex,  England.  The 
exact  date  of  his  birth  is  not  certain  ;  but  it  is 
known  that  he  was  baptized  February  loth, 
1608-9. 

His  parents  were  noble,  and  his  father  filled 
positions  of  some  dignity  under  both  James  I. 


xvi  PREFA  CE. 

and  Charles  I.  The  partial  (and  somewhat 
prolix)  Rev.  Alfred  endeavors  to  show  that  the 
paternal  Suckling,  also,  was  endowed  with  poeti- 
cal genius  ;  but  he  has  slight  success  in  his  at- 
tempt. Our  poet  lost  his  mother  when  he  was 
only  five  years  old,  and  he  succeeded  to  large 
paternal  estates  at  the  too  early  age  of  eighteen 
years.  These  facts  undoubtedly  placed  him  at 
a  moral  disadvantage  and  are  partly  accounta- 
ble for  some  of  his  misfortunes. 

One  of  his  biographers  makes  the  surprising 
statement  that  Suckling  "  spoke  Latin  at  five 
and  writ  it  at  nine  ;"  but  it  was  not  until  1623 
that  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where  he  distinguished  himself  in  the  more 
ornamental  and  polite  branches  of  learning,  and 
was  especially  noted  for  his  success  in  mastering 
foreign  languages.  His  father's  death  occurred 
in  the  midst  of  our  poet's  university  career  when 
valuable  possessions  in  various  parts  of  England 
became  his,*  and  in  the  following  year  he  began 


*The  Rev.  Alfred  Suckling,  "  for  the  amusement  of  the 
ladies,"  gives  a  part  of  the  will  of  the  elder  Suckling  :  "  I  give 
to  my  beloved  daughter  Martha,  a  fay  re  ring,  with  clcavcn 


PREFACE.  XV  ii 

liis  travels  in  Germany,  France,  Italy,  and  Spain. 
In  Germany,  he  took  an  active  part  in  the  mili- 
tary operations  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  ac- 
quitted himself  with  much  credit  as  one  of  forty 
sons  of  gentlemen  v/ho  served  directly  under 
the  Marquis  of  Hamilton,  the  commander  of  the 
English  contingent. 

Ill  the  year  1632,  Suckling  returned  to  England, 
and  immediately  took  the  prominent  place  at 
the  gay  and  pleasure-loving  court  to  which  he 
v/as  entitled  by  his  gallantry,  wit,  birth,  and 
wealth.  Kis  friend  "  Will"  Davenant  (sec 
Notes,  page  217)  says  ; — "  He  (Suckling)  was 
famous  at  court  for  his  accomplishments  and 
readie  sparkling  witt,  that  he  was  the  bull  that 

dyamonds:  and  to  my  two  pretty  twynnes  Anne  and  Mary  I 
give  two  rings  with  dyamonds  in  either  of  them — viz.,  to  Anne 
a  ring  with  13  dyamonds  in  it,  and  to  Mary  one  ring  with  7 
dyamonds  in  it.  Item,  I  give  to  my  very  loving  wyfe  all  her 
apparell,  pearies,  rings,  and  jewelles,  waich  she  now  wearcth, 
or  hath  in  her  possession  :  save  only  one  chaync  of  dyamonds, 
which  I  lately  bought  by  the  help  of  one  Mr.  Hardnett,  a  jew- 
eller, and  paid  one  hundred  fifty-five  pounds  for  the  same, 
which  is  by  her  to  be  repayd  to  my  executors  within  one  ycare 
next  after  my  decease;  unless  my  eldest  Sonne  and  she  agree 
about  the  redemption  of  the  manor  of  Rose  Hall.  Item,  I  give 
to  my  well-beloved  wyfe  my  best  coach  and  twoe  of  my  best 
coach-horscs,  and  she  to  dwell  in  my  house  in  Dorset  Court  (in 
Fleet  Street)  soe  longe  as  she  rcmaynes  my  widdosve." 


xviii  PREFA  CE. 

was  bayted ;  his  repartee  and  witt  beinge  moLt 
sparkling,  when  most  set  on  and  provoked." 
William  Winstanley*  says  he  was,  "as  the  dar- 
ling of  the  court." 

The  young  poet  plunged  deeply  into  all  the 
frivolity,  the  recklessness,  and  the  vice  of  the 
highest  court  circles,  although  he  graced  his  dis- 
^jSipation  by  many  sprightly  and  polished  verses 
and  letters.  His  entertainments  were  superb. 
For  some  of  them  he  wrote  masques  which  Vv^erc 
performed  at  his  house  at  Whittonf,  and  for 
others  he  devised  many  original  features  which 
now  seem  quaint.  From  one  of  these  entertain- 
ments— rashly  daring  youth  ! — he  shut  out  all 
ladies  "who  could  not  boast  of  youth  and 
beauty."  The  Rev.  Alfred  somewhat  naively 
writes  of  those  who  did  possess  these  two  graces 
and  were  the  poet's  guests  on  ^this  occasion : 
"  These  ladies  Suckling  entertained  with  every 
rarity  which  wealth  could  collect  and  taste  pre- 
scribe.  But  the  last  course  displayed  his  spright- 

*Died  1690.    Author  of  The  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

tSee  A  Prologue  to  a  Masque  at  Witten  (Page  187),  which 
was  written  fur  one  of  these. 


PREFACE.  xix 

ly  gallantry ;  it  consisted  not  of  viands,  yet 
more  delicate  and  choice,  but  of  silk  stockin^^s, 
garters,  and  gloves,  presents  at  that  time  of  no 
contemptible  value."  He  is  said  to  have  spent 
hundreds  of  pounds  upon  this  entertainment, 
and  upon  a  certain  countess  "  v/hom  he  had 
highly  courted,  in  treating  her,"  some  thou- 
sands of  pounds. 

Sir  John  became  distinguished  at  bowls  and 
cards  as  well  as  at  rhymes,  and  the  same  gossip* 
who  teils  of  the  costliness  of  his  courtship  of 
the  countess  informs  us  that  "  no  shopkeeper 
would  trust  him  for  sixpence  ;  as  to-day,  for 
instance,  he  might,  by  winning,  be  v/orth  ^200; 
the  next  day,  he  might  not  be  worth  half  so  much 
or  perhaps  sometimes  minus  nihzlo."  Mr.  Haz- 
litt  has  found  the  following  in  a  newsletter  from 
George  Garrard  to  Lady  Conway,  1635:  "I 
heard  my  Lord  Dunhill  lost  at  the  Wcll.3  at 
Tunbridge  about  £1000  at  ninepins,  most  of  it 
to  Sir  John  Sutlin." 

When  fortune  smiled  not  on  Suckling  and  he 
lost    heavily,   Davenant   sa^^s   that,  "  he   would 

*John  Aubrey,  1626— 16^7.    Antiquarian  and  v/riter. 


XX  PREFACE. 

make  himself  glorious  in  apparel,  and  said  that 
it  exalted  his  spirits,  and  that  he  had  then  the 
best  luck  when  he  was  most  gallant,  and  his 
spirits  high."  The  poet  himself  says  (see  A 
Sessiojis  of  the  Poets,  page  172)  that  : — 

"  He  loved  not  the  Muses,  so  well  as  his  sport ; 
And  prized  black  eyes  or  a  lucky  hit 
At  bowls,  above  all  the  trophies  of  wit.'* 

Once,  when  turning  from  bowls  to  black  eyes, 
he  met  with  a  sound  cudgelling  at  the  hands  of 
a  Mr,  Digby,  "  a  proper  person  of  great  strength 
and  yielded  to  be  the  best  sv/ordsman  of  his 
time,"  while  Aubrey  describes  Suckling  as  "of 
slight  strength."     After  this  unlucky  experience, 
"  'twas   strange,"  wrote  Aubrey,   "  to   see   the 
evil  and   ill   nature  of  people,  to   trample  and 
scoff  at,  and  deject  one  in  disgrace."     But  Sir 
John's   many   brilliant   qualities   soon   enallcd 
him  to  dispel  the  clouds  of  annoyance.     At  an 
entertainment  of  Lady  Moray's,  when  he  was 
imdorgning   much   raillery,    his   genial    hostess 
called  out  to  him  :  "'  Well !  I  am  a  merriev/encli 
and  will  never  forsake  an  old  friend  in  disgrace; 
so,   come  and    sitt  downe   by   me,  Rir  .Tohn.' 


PREFACE,  xxi 

Upon  this,  she  seated  him  at  her  right  hand, 
and  paid  him  extraordinary  attention.  Her 
well-timed  kindness  raised  his  dejected  spirits 
so  greatly,  '  that  he  threw  his  repartees  about 
the  table  with  much  sparkliness  and  gentileness 
of  wit,  to  the  admiration  of  them  all.'  " 

Suckling  soon  began  to  devote  himself  to 
more  serious  matters  than  those  which  occupi«.'d 
his  time  during  these  two  or  three  years  after  his 
return  from  Germany,  and  he  became  much  en- 
grossed in  affairs  of  state  ;  until,  in  April,  1635, 
he  was  brought  before  the  notice  of  the  dread 
court  of  Star  Chamber  as  one  of  those  nobles 
who  disregarded  the  law  compelling  them  to 
spend  time  and  money  upon  their  country 
estates.  He  speedily  withdrew  from  London 
and  the  court,  and  it  was  then  that  he  produced 
most  of  his  best  literarj'-  work.  He  lived  luxur- 
iously, entertained  handsomely,  and  devoted 
many  of  his  hours  to  the  Muses,  but  not  for 
many  years ;  as  the  troubles  of  the  time  (1639) 
soon  drev/  his  attention,  and  he  became  again 
actively  engaged  in  public  affairs. 

When  Charles  raised  his  army  to  march 
against  the   Covenanters,  the  poet   came    for- 


xxii  PREFACE. 

ward  with  a  princely  gift  to  his  monarch  in 
the  shape  of  a  troop  of  horse  which  cost  the 
giver  twelve  thousand  pounds.  His  horsemen 
were  picked  men,  finely  equipped  and  gayly  uni- 
formed, and  were  spoken  of  as  the  "  finest  sight" 
in  the  king's  forces.  In  a  letter  written  at  the 
River  Tweed  before  the  enemy  had  been  seen 
Suckling  describes  himself  and  his  fellow  soldiers 
as  "walking  up  and  dov/n  like  the  Tower  lions 
in  their  cages  ;  leaving  the  people  to  think  what 
we  would  do  if  we  were  let  loose.  The  enemy 
is  not  yet  much  visible  ;  it  may  be  it  is  the  fault 
of  the  climate,  which  brings  men  as  slowly  for- 
ward as  plants.  But  it  giv-es  us  fears  that  the 
men  of  peace  will  drav/  all  to  a  dumb  show,  and 
so  destroy  a  handsome  opportunity,  which  was 
now  offered  of  producing  glorious  matter  for 
future  chronicle." 

Alas!  the  "glorious  matter"  v.'^as  but  an  in- 
glorious flight  of  all  the  king's  horses 
and  all  the  king's  men,  including  Suckling's 
one  hundred,  red  plumes  and  all.  This 
was  made  the  occasion  of  the  broadly  humor- 
ous ballad  of  Sir  John  Mennis  (see  N'ofcs, 
page  210)  which  ridiculed  the  poet — a  rival  of 


PREFACE.  xxiii 

tlic  lampooner  for  literary  honors  ! — and  which 
became  a  popular  song  with  the  Roundheads. 

But  Suckling's  bravery  can  no  more  be  ques- 
tioned than  that  of  all  other  individuals  in  an 
army  that  fled  as  a  body  at  the  first  sight  of  the 
uncouth,  poverty-stricken  Scots  of  Dunse,  fren- 
zied, almost,  by  their  deep  feeling.  Suckling 
himself  says  :  "  Posterity  must  tell  this  miracle, 
that  there  went  an  army  from  the  south,  of 
which  there  was  not  one  man  lost  nor  any  man 
taken  prisoner."  The  incapable — and,  perhaps, 
treacherous — carpet-knight  who  was  Suckling's 
commander  has,  indeed,  a  stain  upon  his  reputa- 
tion that  leaves  no  whiteness  in  it ;  but  no  part 
of  the  blot  can  be  transferred  to  the  name  of  the 
poet  for  his  minor  part  in  the  disgraceful  fiasco. 

And  nov/  came  the  Long  Parliament,  of  which 
at  first  our  poet  was  a  member,  and  a  keen- 
sighted  and  a  wise  one,  until  his  heart  con- 
quered his  head,  and  he  became  one  of  the 
schemers  who  tried  in  vain  to  save  the  great  but 
venal  Strafford  from  a  dire  fate.  On  the  fifth  of 
May,  1 641,  Suckling,  with  Davenant  and  others, 
was  summoned  for  examination  by  the  Parlia- 
ment as  a  conspirator  against  the  realm. 


xxiv  PREFACE. 

He  fled  across  the  Channel,  and,  in  Paris,  pro- 
babl3Mn  the  year  1642,  while  in  his  prime,  he 
found  a  terrible  end.  Exile,  despair,  and  un- 
accustomed poverty  proved  too  great  a  burden, 
and  by  his  own  hand  he  cast  it  all  off — with  his 
life.  Had  he  lived  to  return  to  England  and 
again  take  up  his  high  position  and  literary 
pursuits,  his  later  years  might  liave  wonder- 
fully enriciicd  the  lyrical  verse  of  our  tongue, 
judging  from  the  fruits  of  his  too-short  life. 

The  portrait  of  Suckling  which  has  been  etched 
for  this  edition  by  Mr.  J.  S.  King  is  after  the 
painting  by  Vandyke.  The  poet  is  said 
to  have  been  "  of  the  middle  size,  though  but 
slightly  made ;  with  a  winning  and  graceful 
carriage  and  noble  features."  Aubrey  says  he 
was  of  "  brisque  eie  ;  his  head  not  ver}'-  big;  hif> 
hayre  a  kind  of  sand  colour  ;  his  beard  turn'd 
up  naturally,  so  that  he  had  a  brisk  and  grace- 
ful look."  He  is  a  thorough  Cavalier  in  ap- 
pearance, as  shown  in  our  portrait  of  him, 
and  has,  certainlyv  a  prepossessing  face.  He 
died  a  bachelor. 

After  his  flioht  from  EnMand  several  curious 


PREFA  CE.  vxv 

pamphlets  directed  against  him  were  published, 
one  of  which  was  cahed  "The  Suckhngton 
Faction  or  (Sucklings)  Roaring  Boyes,"  testi- 
mony to  the  fact  that  his  enemies  had  thought 
him  worthy  of  much  notice.  The  great  Milton 
refers  to  "  Suckling  and  other  conspirators"  in 
connection  with  an  accusation  against  the  king. 
It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  wider  difference 
between  two  contemporary  poets  than  existed 
between  these.  Each  in  his  life  and  in  his 
v/ritings  was  a  peculiarly  fit  representative  of  his 
own  faction — Suckling  of  the  looseness,  the  v/it, 
the  gayety,  and  the  recklessness  of  the  Cava- 
liers ;  Milton  of  the  strictness,  the  lofty  thought,  / 
the  solemnity,  and  the  intensity  of  purpose  of 
the  Parliamentarians. 

But  in  his  own  true  field  of  light  lyrical  verse, 
as  Milton  in  his  grander  one,  our  poet  stands 
high  and  looks  down  the  centuries  over  the 
heads  of  many  of  his  imitators.  Many  greater 
poets  than  himself  are  accused  of  appropriation 
of  Suckling's  ideas,  while  Pope  took  several 
lines,  almost  word  for  word,  in  his  Essay  on 
Criticism.      Byron,   Moore,    Leigh     Hunt     and 


sxvi  PREFA  CE. 

others  are  mentioned  as  "  suspects  ;"  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  SuckHng  in  his  plays  is  said  to 
have  benefitted  by  many  lines  from  Shake- 
speare and  Jean  de  Balzac. 

Aside  from  his  poems,  little  of  Sir  John  Suck- 
ling's work  is  worthy  of  attention.  He  wrote 
four  plays,  Aglatcra,  The  Goblz?is,  Brejtnoralt,  and 
The  Sad  One,  which  attracted  some  attention  at 
^ourt,  but  whose  best  features  are  the  songs 
scattered  through  them.  In  these  dramatic 
works,  Suckling  showed  the  strong  influence 
which  Shakespeare  had  over  him,  and  he  seems 
to  have  been  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  great 
master  at  a  tim.e  when  the  latter  was  given  but 
meagre  attention.  Suckling's  own  lines  in  A 
Siippievient  of  an  Liipcrfect  Copy  of  Verses  of 
Mr.  William  Shakespeare' s  (see  page  70  and 
note  upon  it)  are  not  altogether  unvv'orthy  of  the 
author  of  the  Lncrece,  In  one  of  his  letters  our 
poet  refers  to  "  my  friend,  Mr.  William  Sliake- 
speare,"  and  of  this  the  Rev.  Alfred  Suckling 
remarks  :  "  This  is  probably  an  expression  aris- 
ing simply  from  his  admiration  of  our  imm.ortal 
bard  ;  yet  he  might  have  seen  tliat  writer,  while 


PREFACE.  XXV  ii 

a  boy,  and  very  probably  had  been  in  his  com- 
pany." 

Many  of  Suckling's  letters  are  extant,  and  are 
excellent  in  style,  vivacious,  and  witty  ;  while 
some  of  his  serious  ones  concernmg  public 
affairs  show  sound  judgment  and  high  ability. 
But  his  verses  chiefly  interest  us,  and  they 
alone  of  his  productions  are  thought  worthy  of 
place  in  the  following  pages.  The  arrangement 
which  has  here  been  made  is  wholly  different 
from  that  of  any  previous  edition.  In  fact,  this 
is  the  first  attempt  at  grouping  together, 
under  various  general  headings,  such  of  the 
poet's  verses  as  can  be  so  placed  with  propri- 
ety. F.  A.  S. 

NEW  YORK,    NOVEMBER,  1 886. 


w 


SONG. 

HY  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover? 
Prithee,  why  so  pale  ? 
Will,  when  looking  well  can't  move  her. 
Looking  ill  prevail  ? 
Prithee,  why  so  pale  ? 

Why  so  dull  and  mute,  young  sinner  ? 

Prithee,  why  so  mute? 
Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her. 

Saying  nothing  do  't  ? 

Prithee,  why  so  mute  ? 

Quit,  quit,  for  shame ;  this  will  not  move 
This  cannot  take  her. 


SONG. 

If  of  herself  she  will  not  love. 

Nothing  can  make  her 
The  d 1  take  her ! 


SONG. 

PRITHEE  send  me  back  my  heart. 
Since  I  cannot  have  thine  : 
For  if  from  thine  thou  wilt  not  part, 
Why  then  shouldst  thou  have  mine  ? 

Yet  now  I  think  on't,  let  it  lie, 

To  find  it  were  in  vain. 
For  thou'st  a  thief  in  either  eye 

Would  steal  it  back  again. 

Why  should  two  hearts  in  one  breast  lie, 
And  yet  not  lodge  together  ? 

O  love,  where  is  thy  sympathy, 
If  thus  our  breasts  thou  sever? 


SOjVG. 

But  love  is  such  a  mystery, 

I  cannot  find  it  out : 
For  when  I  think  I'm  best  resolv'd. 

I  then  am  in  most  doubt. 

Then  farewell  care,  and  farewell  woe, 

I  will  no  longer  pine  : 
For  I'll  believe  I  have  her  heart. 

As  much  as  she  hath  mine. 


A  SONG  TO  A  LUTE. 

T    T  AST  thou  seen  the  down  i'  th'  air, 
-^   -*•  when  wanton  blasts  have  toss'd  it ; 

Or  the  ship  on  the  sea, 

when  ruder  v/aves  have  cross'd  it  ? 
Hast  thou  mark'd  the  crocodile's  weeping, 

or  the  fox's  sleeping  ? 
Or  hast  view'd  the  peacock  in  his  pride, 

or  the  dove  by  his  bride, 

when  he  courts  for  his  lechery  ? 
O,  so  fickle,  O,  so  vain,  O,  so  false,  so  false  is  she. 


THE  HONEST   LOVER. 

IT  ONEST  lover  whosoever, 
-■-         If  in  all  thy  love  there  ever 
Was  one  wav'ring  thought,  if  thy  flame 
Were  not  still  even,  still  the  same  : 
Know  this, 
Thou  lov'st  amiss, 
And,  to  love  true. 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 

If,  when  she  appears  i'th*  room. 
Thou  dost  not  quake,  and  art  struck  dumb. 
And  in  striving  this  to  cover, 
Dost  not  speak  thy  words  twice  over, 
Know  this. 
Thou  lov'st  amiss, 


SO.VG. 

And,  to  love  true, 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 


If  fondly  thou  dost  not  mistake, 
And  all  defects  for  graces  take, 
Persuad'st  thyself  that  jests  are  broken, 
When  she  hath  little  or  nothing  spoken. 
Know  this. 

Thou  lov'st  amiss, 

And,  to  love  true, 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 


If  when  thou  appear'st  to  be  within, 
Thou  lett'st  not  men  ask  and  ask  again  ; 
And  when  thou  answer'st,  if  it  be, 
To  what  was  ask'd  thee,  properly. 
Know  this, 

Thou  lov'st  amiss, 

And,  to  love  true, 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 


lo  SONG. 

If  v/hen  thy  stomach  calls  to  eat, 
Thou  cutt'st  not  fingers  'stead  of  meat, 
And,  with  much  gazing  on  her  face 
Dost  not  rise  hungry  from  the  place, 
Know  this, 

Thou  lov'st  amiss. 

And,  to  love  true, 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 

If  by  this  thou  dost  discover 
That  thou  art  no  perfect  lover. 
And,  desiring  to  love  true. 
Thou  dost  begin  to  love  anew : 
Know  this. 

Thou  lov'st  amiss. 

And,  to  love  true. 
Thou  must  begin  again,  and  love  anew. 


THE   CARELESS   LOVER. 

"V  T  EVER  believe  me,  if  I  love, 

-^  ^       Or  know  what  'tis,  or  mean  to  prove ; 

And  yet,  in  faith,  I  lie  ;  I  do ; 

And  she's  extremely  handsome  too  ; 
She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair, 
But  I  care  not  who  know  it. 
Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 

This  heat  of  hope,  or  cold  of  fear. 
My  foolish  heart  could  never  bear : 
One  sigh  imprisoned  ruins  more 
Than  earthquakes  have  done  heretofore  : 
She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair, 
But  I  care  not  who  know  it, 
Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 


12  SONG, 

When  I  am  hungry,  I  do  eat, 
And  cut  no  fingers  'stead  of  meat ; 
Nor  with  much  gazing  on  her  face 
Do  e'er  rise  hungry  from  the  place  : 
She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair, 
But  I  care  not  who  know  it, 
Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 

A  gentle  round  fill'd  to  the  brink 

To  this  and  t'other  friend  I  drink  ; 

And  when  'tis  nam'd  another's  health, 

I  never  make  it  hers  by  stealth  : 

She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair. 

But  I  care  not  v/ho  know  it, 

Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 

Blackfriars  to  me,  and  old  Whitehall, 
Are  even  as  much  as  is  the  fall 
Of  fountains  on  a  pathless  grove, 
And  nourishes  as  much  my  love  : 

She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair. 


SONG.  13 

But  I  care  not  who  know  it. 

Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 

I  visit,  talk,  do  business,  play. 
And  for  a  need  laugh  out  a  day : 
Who  does  not  thus  in  Cupid's  school, 
lie  makes  not  love,  but  plays  the  fool : 
She's  fair,  she's  wondrous  fair, 
But  I  care  not  who  know  it, 
Ere  I'll  die  for  love,  I'll  fairly  forego  it. 


SONG. 

^nr^HE  crafty  boy  that  had  full  oft  essay 'd 
-^       To   pierce    my   stubborn    and    resisting 
breast, 
But  still  the  bluntness  of  his  darts  betrayed, 
Resolv'd  at  last  of  setting  up  his  rest. 
Either  my  wild  unruly  heart  to  tame, 
Or  quit  his  godhead,  and  his  bow  disclaim. 

So  all  his  lovely  looks,  his  pleasing  fires. 
All  his  sweet  motions,  all  his  taking  smiles. 
All  that  awakes,  all  that  inflames  desires, 
All  that  by  sweet  commands,  all  that  beguiles. 
He  does  into  one  pair  of  eyes  convey. 
And  there  begs  leave  that  he  himself  may 
stay. 


SONG.  1 5 

And  there  he  brings  me,  where  his  ambush  lay, 
Secure  and  careless,  to  a  stranger  land  ; 
And  never  warning  me — which  was  foul  play — 
Does  make  me  close  by  all  this  beauty  stand. 
Where  first  struck  dead,  I  did  at  last  recover, 
To  know  that  I  might  only  live  to  love  her. 

So  I'll  be  sworn  I  do,  and  do  confess, 

The  blind  lad's  power,  whilst  he  inhabits  there  : 

But  I'll  be  even  with  him,  nevertheless. 

If  e'er  I  chance  to  meet  with  him  elsewhere. 

If  other  eyes  invite  the  boy  to  tarry, 

I'll  fly  to  hers  as  to  a  sanctuary. 


SONG. 

X  '%  7 HEN,  dearest,  I  but  think  of  thee, 
*  ^       Methinks  all  things  that  lovely  be 
Are  present,  and  my  soul  delighted ; 

For  beauties  that  from  worth  arise 

Are  like  the  grace  of  deities, 
Still  present  with  us,  though  unsighted. 

Thus  whilst  I  sit,  and  sigh  the  day 
With  all  his  borrow'd  lights  away. 

Till  night's  black  wings  do  overtake  me, 
Thinking  on  thee,  thy  beauties  then, 
As  sudden  lights  do  sleeping  men, 

So  they  by  their  bright  rays  awake  me. 


SONG,  1 7 

Thus  absence  dies,  and  dying  proves 
No  absence  can  subsist  with  loves 

That  do  partake  of  fair  perfection  ; 
Since  in  the  darkest  night  they  may 
By  love's  quick  motion  find  a  way 

To  see  each  other  by  reflection. 

The  waving  sea  can  with  each  flood 
Bathe  some  high  promont  that  hath  stood 

Far  from  the  main  up  in  the  rivei : 
O,  think  not  then  but  love  can  do 
As  much,  for  that's  an  ocean  too, 

Which  flows  not  every  day,  but  ever ! 


N 


PRINCE  THERSAMES'S  SONG. 

O,  no,  fair  heretic,  it  needs  must  be 
But  an  ill  love  in  me, 
And  worse  for  thee. 


For  were  it  in  my  power. 
To  love  thee  now  this  hour 

More  than  I  did  the  last; 

I  v/ould  then  so  fall, 

I  might  not  love  at  all. 
Love  that  can  flow,  and  can  admit  increase. 
Admits  as  well  an  ebb,  and  may  grow  less. 

True  love  is  still  the  same ;  the  torrid  zones. 
And  those  more  frigid  ones, 
it  must  not  know. 


PRINCE   THEKS AMES'S  SONG.  19 

For  love,  grown  cold  or  hot, 

Is  lust  or  friendship,  not 
The  thing  we  have. 

For  that's  a  flame  would  die, 
Eleld  down  or  up  too  high : 

Then  think  I  love  more  than  I  can  express. 
And  would  love  more,  could  I  but  love  thee 
less. 


SOXG. 

T    PRITHEE  spare  me,  gentle  boy, 
-^      Press  me  no  more  for  that  slight  toy. 
That  foolish  trifle  of  an  heart ; 
I  swear  it  will  not  do  its  part, 
Though  thou  dost  thine,  employ 'st   thy  power 
and  art. 


For  through  long  custom  it  has  known. 
The  little  secrets,  and  is  grown 
Sullen  and  wise,  will  have  its  will. 

And.  like  old  hawks,  pursues  that  still 
That  makes  least  sport,  flies  only  where't  can 
kill. 


SONG.  2  i 

Some  youth  that  has  not  made  his  story, 

Will  think,  perchance,  the  pain's  the  glory ; 

And  mannerly  fit  out  love's  feast ; 

I  shall  be  carving  of  the  best, 

Rudely  call  for  the  last  course  'fore  the  rest. 

And,  O,  when  once  that  course  is  pass'd. 
How  short  a  time  the  feast  doth  last ! 
Men  rise  away,  and  scarce  say  grace, 
Or  civilly  once  thank  the  face 
That  did  invite,  but  seek  another  place. 


SONG. 

UNJUST  decrees,  that  do  at  once  exact 
From  such  a  love  as  worthy  hearts  should 
own. 

So  wild  a  passion, 
And  yet  so  tame  a  presence 
As  holding  no  proportion. 
Changes  into  impossible  obedience. 

Let  it  suffice,  that  neither  I  do  love 
In  such  a  calm  observance  as  to  weigh 
Each  word  I  say, 
And  each  examin'd  look  t'  approve 
That  towards  her  doth  move, 
Without  so  much  of  fire 
As  might  in  time  kindle  into  desire. 


SOA'G.  23 

Or,  give  me  leave  to  burst  into  a  flame. 
And  at  the  scope  of  my  unbounded  will 
Love  her  my  fill, 
No  superscriptions  of  fame, 
Of  honour,  or  good  name. 
No  thought  but  to  improve 
The  gentle  and  quick  approaches  of  my  love. 

But  thus  to  throng  and  overlade  a  soul 
With  love,  and  then  to  leave  a  room  for  fear. 
That  shall  all  that  control. 
What  is  it  but  to  rear 
Our  passions  and  our  hopes  on  high, 
That  thence  they  may  descry 
The  noblest  way  how  to  despair  and  die  ? 


SONG. 

IF  you  refuse  me  once,  and  think  again, 
I  will  complain. 
You  are  deceiv'd  ;  love  is  no  work  of  art. 
It  must  be  got  and  born. 
Not  made  and  worn, 
By  every  one  that  hath  a  heart. 

Or  do  you  think  they  more  than  once  can  die. 

Whom  you  deny  ? 
Who  tell  you  of  a  thousand  deaths  a  day, 

Like  the  old  poets  feign 

And  tell  the  pain 
They  met,  but  in  the  common  way. 


SONG, 

Or  do  you  think't  too  soon  to  yield. 
And  quit  the  field  ? 

Nor  is  that  right,  they  yield  that  first  entreat ; 
Once  one  may  crave  for  love. 
But  more  would  prove 

This  heart  too  little,  that  too  great. 

O,  that  I  were  all  soul,  that  I  might  prove 

For  you  as  fit  a  love. 
As  you  are  for  an  angel ;  for  I  knov/. 
None  but  pure  spirits  are  fit  lov€s  for  you. 

You  are  all  ethereal,  there  is  no  dross. 

Nor  any  part  that's  gross. 
Your  coarsest  part  is  like  a  curious  lawn. 
The  vestal  relics  for  a  covering  drawn. 

Your  other  parts,  part  of  the  purest  fire 

That  e'er  Heaven  did  inspire ; 
Makes  every  thought  that  is  refined  by  it, 
A  quintessence  of  goodness  and  of  wit. 


25 


26  SOiVG. 


Thus  have  your  raptures  reach'd  to  that  degree 

In  Love's  philosophy, 
That  j'^ou  can  figure  to  yourself  a  fire 
Void  of  all  heat,  a  love  without  desire. 


Nor  in  Divinity  do  you  go  less : 

You  think,  and  you  profess. 
That  souls  may  have  a  plenitude  of  joy, 
Although  their  bodies  meet  not  to  employ. 


But  I  must  need  confess,  I  do  not  find 

The  motions  of  my  mind 
So  purified  as  yet,  but  at  the  best 
My  body  claims  in  them  an  interest. 


I  hold  that  perfect  joy  makes  all  our  parts 

As  joyful  as  our  hearts. 
Our  senses  tell  us,  if  we  please  not  them. 
Our  love  is  but  a  dotage  or  a  dream. 


SONG.  ?7 

How  shall  we  then  agree  ?  you  may  descend. 

Cut  will  not,  to  my  end. 
I  fain  would  tune  my  fancy  to  your  key. 
But  cannot  reach  to  that  obstructed  way. 

There  rests  but  this,  that  whilst  we  sorrow  here, 

Our  bodies  may  draw  near : 
And  when  no  more  their  joys  they  can  extend, 
Then  let  our  souls  begin  where  they  did  end. 


VERS  D'OCCASION 


I 


A  BALLAD. 

Upon  a    Wedditig. 

TELL  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  been. 
Where  I  the  rarest  things  have  seen ; 
O,  things  without  compare  ! 


Such  sights  again  cannot  be  found 
In  any  place  on  English  ground, 
Be  it  at  wake  or  fair. 


At  Charing-Cross,  hard  by  the  way. 
Where  we  (thou  know'st)  do  sell  our  hay, 

There  is  a  house  with  stairs  ; 
And  there  did  I  see  coming  down 
Such  folks,  as  are  not  in  our  town. 

Forty  at  least,  in  pairs. 


32  --f    BALLAD. 

Amongst  the  rest,  one  pest  lent  fine 
(His  beard  no  bigger.  Xho\  than  thine) 

Walk'd  on  before  the  rest : 
Our  landlord  looks  like  nothing  to  him : 
The  King  (God  bless  him)  'twould  undo  him. 

Should  he  go  still  so  drest. 


At  Course-a-Park,  without  all  doubt. 
He  should  have  first  been  taken  out 

By  all  the  maids  i'  th'  town : 
Though  lusty  Roger  there  had  been 
Or  little  George  upon  the  Green, 

Or  Vincent  of  the  Crown. 


But  wot  }"t>a  what  ?  the  youth  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  wooing ; 

The  parson  for  him  staid  : 
Yet  by  his  lea\-e.  for  all  his  haste. 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past. 

Perchance,  as  did  the  maid. 


A     BALLAD.  33 


The  maid,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale, 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitsun-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce  : 
No  grape,  that's  kindly  ripe,  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft  as  she. 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juice. 


Her  finger  was  so  small,  the  ring 

Would  not  stay  on,  which  they  did  bring, 

It  was  too  wide  a  peck : 
And  to  say  truth  (for  out  it  must) 
It  looked  like  the  great  collar  (just) 

About  our  young  colt's  neck. 


Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat, 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out, 

As  if  they  feared  the  light : 
But  O !  she  dances  such  a  way ! 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter-day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight. 


34  ^i    BALLAD. 

Her  cheeks  so  rare  a  white  was  on, 
No  daisy  makes  comparison  ; 

Who  sees  them  is  undone; 
For  streaks  of  red  were  mingled  there. 
Such  as  are  on  a  Cath'rine  pear, 

The  side  that's  next  the  sun. 


Her  lips  were  red,  and  one  was  thin, 
Compar'd  to  that  was  next  her  chin, 
Some  bee  had  stung  it  newly  ; 
But,  Dick,  her  eyes  so  guard  her  face; 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze 
Than  on  the  sun  in  July. 


Her  mouth  so  small,  when  she  does  speak, 
Thou  'dst  swear  her  teeth  her  words  did  break. 

That  they  might  passage  get ; 
But  she  so  handled  still  the  matter. 
They  came  as  good  as  ours,  or  better. 

And  are  not  spent  a  whit. 


A    BALLAD.  35 

Passion  o'me,  how  I  run  on ! 

There's  that  that  would  be  thought  upon, 

1  trow,  besides  the  bride : 
The  business  of  the  kitchen's  great, 
For  it  is  fit  that  men  should  eat ; 

Nor  was  it  there  denied. 


Just  in  the  nick  the  cook  knocked  thrice. 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 

His  summons  did  obey; 
Each  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
Marched  boldly  up,  like  our  train'd  band. 

Presented,  and  away. 


When  all  the  meat  was  on  the  table. 
What  man  of  knife,  or  teeth,  was  able 

To  stay  to  be  intreated  ? 
And  this  the  very  reason  was, 
Before  the  parson  could  say  grace. 

The  company  were  seated. 


30  A    BALLAD. 

Now  hats  fly  off,  and  youths  carouse ; 
Healths  first  go  round,  and  then  the  house. 

The  bride's  come  thick  and  thick : 
And  when  'twas  nam'd  another's  health. 
Perhaps  he  made  it  hers  by  stealth ; 

And  who  could  help  it,  Dick? 


O'  th'  sudden  up  they  rise  and  dance ; 
Then  sit  again,  and  sigh,  and  glance  ; 

Then  dance  again  and  kiss : 
Thus  several  ways  the  time  did  pass, 
Till  every  woman  wished  her  place. 

And  every  man  wished  his. 

By  this  time  all  were  stol'n  aside 
To  counsel  and  undress  the  bride; 

But  that  he  must  not  know  : 
But  yet  'twas  thought  he  guess'd  her  mind. 
And  did  not  mean  to  stay  behind 

Above  an  hour  or  so. 


UPON     MY    LORD     BROGHILL'S     WED. 
DING. 

DIALOGUE. 

S[UCKLING.]  B[OND.] 

S.   T  N  bed,  dull  man, 

-■-     When    Love  and    Hymen's   revels  are 
begun, 
And  the  church  ceremonies  past  and  done  ! 

B.  Why,  who's  gone  mad  to-day  ? 

6".  Dull  heretic,  thou  wouldest  say, 

He  that  is  gone  to  heav'n  's  gone  astray  ; 
Broghill  our  gallant  friend 
Is  gone  to  church,  as  martyrs  to  the  fire  : 
Who  marry,  differ  i'  th'  end, 
Since  both  do  take 


33         LORD    BROG  HILLS     WEDDING. 

The  hardest  way  to  what  they  most  desire, 
Nor  staid  he  till  the  formal  priest  had  done, 
But  ere  that  part  was  finish'd,  his  begun : 
Which  did  reveal 
The  haste  and  eagerness  men  have  to  seal, 
That  long  to  tell  the  money. 

A  sprig  of  willow  in  his  hat  he  wore 
(The  lover's  badge  and  liv'ry  heretofore), 
But  now  so  ordered  that  it  might  be  taken 
By  lookers  on,  forsaking  as  forsaken. 

And  now  and  then 
A  careless  smile  broke  forth,  which  spoke  his 

mind, 
And  seem'd  to  say  she  might  have  been  more 
kind. 
When  this,  dear  Jack,  I  saw, 

Thought  I, 
How  weak  is  lovers'  law ! 
The  bonds  made  there  like  gypsies'  knots,  with 

ease 
Are  fast  and  loose,  as  they  that  hold  them  please. 


LORD    BROG  HILLS     IVKDDIXC.         39 

B.  But  what  was  the  fair   nymph's   praise   or 

power  less. 
That  led  him  captive  now  to  happiness. 
Cause  she  did  not  a  foreign  aid  despise, 
But  enter'd  breaches  made  by  others'  eyes  ? 

S.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

There  must  be  some  to  shoot  and  batter  down, 
Others  to  force  and  to  take  in  the  town. 
To  hawks,  good  Jack,  and  hearts 

There  may 
Be  sev'ral  ways  and  arts  ; 
One  watches  them  perchance,  and  makes  them 

tame ; 
Another,   when    they   are    ready,   shows   them 
game. 


TO  A  LADY  THAT  FORBADE  TO  LOVE 
BEFORE  COMPANY. 

WHAT!  no  more  favours?    Not  a  ribbon 
more, 
Not  fan  nor  muff  to  hold  as  heretofore  ? 
Must  all  the  little  blisses  then  be  left, 
And  what  was  once   Love's  gift,  become  our 

theft  ? 
May  we  not  look  ourselves  into  a  trance. 
Teach  our  souls  parley  at  our  eyes,  not  glance, 
Not  touch  the  hand,  not  by  soft  wringing  there 
Whisper  a  love  that  only  yes  can  hear  ? 
Not  free  a  sigh,  a  sigh  that's  there  for  you  ? 
Dear,  must  I  love  you,  and  not  love  you  too  ? 
Be  wise,  nice,  fair ;  for  sooner  shall  they  trace 
The  feather'd  choristers  from  place  to  place, 


TO    A     LADY.  41 

By  prints  they  make  in  th'  air,  and  sooner  say 
By  what  right  line  the  last  star  made  his  way. 
That  fled  from  heaven  to  earth,  than  guess  to 

know 
How  our   loves  first   did   spring,  or  how  they 

grow. 


UPON    THE    BLACK     PATCHES    WORN 
BY  MY  LADY  D.  E. 

Madam: 

I   KNOW  your  heart  cannot  so  guilty  be, 
That    you   should   wear    those    spots    for 
vanity ; 
Or  as  your  beauty's  trophies,  put  on  one 
For  ev'ry  murder  which  your  eyes  have  done  : 
No,  they're  your  mourning-weeds  for  hearts  for- 
lorn 
Which,  though  you  must  not  love,  you  could  not 

scorn  ; 
To  whom  since  cruel  honour  doth  deny 
Those  joys  could  only  cure  their  misery; 
Yet  you  this  noble  way  to  grace  them  found. 


UPOX    THE    BLACk'    PATCHES.         43 

Whilst  thus   our  grief   their   martyrdom    hath 

crowned. 
Of  which  take  heed  you  prove  not  prodigal. 
For  if  to  every  common  funeral, 
By  your  eyes  martyr'd  such  grace  were  allow'd, 
Your  face  should  wear  not  patches,  but  a  cloud. 


UPON  THE  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  MY  LADY 
SEYMOUR. 

WONDER  not  much,  if  thus  amaz'd  I  look 
Since  I  saw  you,  I  have  been  planet- 
struck  : 
A  beauty,  and  so  rare,  I  did  descry, 
As,  should  I  set  her  forth,  you  all,  as  I, 
Would  lose  your  hearts  likewise ;   for  he  that 

can 
Know  her,  and  live,  he  must  be  more  than  man. 
An  apparition  of  so  sweet  a  creature. 
That,  credit  me,  she  had  not  any  feature 
That  did  not  speak  her  angel.     But  no  more  : 
Such  heavenly  things  as  these  we  must  adore, 
Nor  prattle  of;  lest,  when  we  do  but  touch, 
Or  strive  to  know,  we  wrong  her  too — too  much. 


UPON  MY  LADY  CARLISLE'S  WALKING 
IN    HAMPTON   COURT   GARDEN. 

DIALOGUE. 

T[HOMAS  C[arew].      J[ohnJ  S[uckling]. 

Tom. 

DIDST  thou  not  find  the  place  inspir'd, 
And  flowers,  as  if  they  had  desir'd 
No  other  sun,  start  from  their  beds, 
And  for  a  sight  steal  out  their  heads  ? 
Heardst  thou  not  music  when  she  talk'd  ? 
And  didst  not  find  that  as  she  walk'd 
She  threw  rare  perfumes  all  about. 
Such  as  bean-blossoms  newly  out, 
Or  chafed  spices  give  ? 


i 


46  CrFOA^    LADY  CARLISLE. 

J.  S. 

I  must  confess  those  perfumes,  Tom, 
I  did  not  smell ;  nor  found  that  from 


X-  Her  passing  by  ought  sprang  up  new  ; 

The  flowers  had  all  their  birth  from  you ; 
For  I  passed  o'er  the  self-same  walk, 
And  did  not  find  one  single  stalk 
Of  anything  that  was  to  bring 
This  unknown  after-aften  spring. 


TO  MY  LADY  E.  C.  AT  HER  GOING  OUT 
OF  ENGLAND. 

T    MUST  confess,  when  I  did  part  from  you, 
-*-      I  could  not  force  an  artificial  dew 
Upon  my  cheeks,  nor  with  a  gilded  phrase 
Express  how  many  hundred  several  ways 
My  heart  was  tortur'd,  nor  with  arms  across 
In  discontented  garbs  set  forth  my  loss  : 
Such  loud  expressions  many  times  do  come 
From  lightest   hearts :    great   griefs  arc  always 

dumb. 
The  shallow  rivers  roar,  the  deep  are  still. 
Numbers   of    painted    words   may   show    much 

skill. 
But  little  anguish  ;  and  a  cloudy  face 
Is  oft  put  on,  U)  serve  both  time  and  place  : 


48  TO  MY  LAD  V  E.   C 

The  blazing  wood  may  to  the  eye  seem  great, 
But  'tis  the  fire  rak'd  up  that  has  the  heat, 
And  keeps  it  long.     True  sorrow's  like  to  wine. 
That  which  is  good,  does  never  need  a  sign. 
My  eyes  were  channels  far  too  small  to  be 
Conveyers  of  such  floods  of  misery. 
And  so  pray  think,  or  if  you'd  entertain 
A  thought  more  charitable,  suppose  some  strain 
Of  sad  repentance  had,  not  long  before. 
Quite  emptied  for  my  sins  that  wat'ry  store. 
So  shall  you  him  oblige  that  still  will  be 
Your  servant  to  his  best  ability, 


ON  NEW-YEAR'S  DAY,  1640. 
TO  THE  KING. 

AWAKE,  great  sir,  the  sun  shines  here, 
Gives  all  your  subjects  a  New-Year, 
Only  we  stay  till  you  appear  ; 
For  thus  by  us  your  power  is  understood  ; 
He  may  make  fair  days,  you   must  make  them 
good. 

Awake,  awake, 
And  take 
Such  presents  as  poor  men  can  make. 
They  can  add  little  unto  bliss 
Who  cannot  wish. 

May  no  ill  vapour  cloud  the  sky, 
Bold  storms  invade  the  sovereignty, 


50  OA^  A'£I^F-y£AA'S  DA}',   1640. 

But  gales  of  joy,  so  fresh,  so  high, 
That  you  may  think  Heaven  sent  to   try  this 

year 
What  sail,  or  burthen,  a  king's  mind  could  bear. 
Awake,  awake. 
And  take, 
Such  presents  as  poor  men  can  make, 
They  can  add  little  unto  bliss 
Who  cannot  wish. 


May  all  the  discords  in  your  state 
(Like  those  in  music  we  create), 
Be  governed  at  so  wise  a  rate. 
That  what  would  of  itself  sound  harsh,  or  fright, 
May  be  so  tempered  that  it  may  delight. 
Awake,  awake, 
And  take 
Such  presents  as  poor  men  can  make. 
They  can  add  little  unto  bliss 
Who  cannot  wish. 


OiV  NE IV- YEAR'S  DAY,   1640.  51 

What  conquerors  from  battles  find. 
Or  lovers  when  their  doves  are  kind, 
Take  up  henceforth  our  master's  mind, 
Make  such  strange  rapes  upon  the  place,  't  may 

be— 
No  longer  joy  there,  but  an  ecstasy. 
Awake,  awake. 
And  take 
Such  presents  as  poor  men  can  make, 
They  can  add  little  unto  bliss 
Who  cannot  wish. 


May  every  pleasure  and  delight, 
That  has,  or  does,  your  sense  invite, 
Double  this  year,  save  those  o'th'  night; 
Awake,  awake. 
And  take 
Such  presents  as  poor  men  can  make, 
They  can  add  little  unto  bliss 
Who  cannot  wish. 


TO   HIS  MUCH  HONOURED  THE   LORD 
LEPINGTON. 

Upon  his  translation  of  Malvezzi,  his  ROMULUS 
and  TARQUIN. 

IT  is  so  rare  and  new  a  thing  to  see 
Ought  that  belongs  to  young  nobility 
In  print,  but  their  own  clothes,  that  we  must 

praise 
You  as  we  would  do  those  first  show  the  ways 
To  arts  or  to  new  worlds.    You  have  begun  ; 
Taught  travell'd  youth  what  'tis  it  should  have 

done 
For  't  has  indeed  too  strong  a  custom  been 
To  carry  out  more  wit  than  we  bring  in. 


TO   THE  LORD  LEPINGTON.  53 

You  have  done  otherwise  :   brought  home,  my 

lord, 
The  choicest  things  famed  countries  do  afford  : 
Malvezzi  by  your  means  is  English  grown, 
And  speaks  our  tongue  as  well  now  as  his  own. 
Malvezzi,  he  whom  'tis  as  hard  to  praise 
To  merit,  as  to  imitate  his  ways. 
He  does  not  show  us  Rome  great  suddenly, 
As  if  the  empire  were  a  tympany. 
But  gives  it  natural  growth,  tells  how  and  why 
The  little  body  grew  so  large  and  high. 
Describes  each  thing  so  lively  that  we  are 
Concerned  ourselves  before  we  are  aware : 
And  at  the  wars  they  and  their  neighbours  waged, 
Each  man  is  present  still,  and  still  engag'd. 
Like  a  good  perspective  he  strangely  brings 
Things  distant  to  us  ;  and  in  these  two  kings 
We  see  what  made  greatness.  #And  what 't  has 

been 
Made  that  greatness  contemptible  again. 
And  all  this  not  tediously  derived, 


54  TO    THE  LORD  LEPINGTON, 

But  like  to  worlds  in  little  maps  contrived. 
But  stay ;  like  one  that  thinks  to  bring  his  friend 
A  mile  or  two,  and  sees  the  journey's  end, 
I  straggle  on  too  far ;  long  graces  do 
But  keep  good  stomachs  off,  that  would  fall  to. 


TO    HIS   FRIEND    WILL.    DAVENANT. 

Upon  his  Poein  of  "  MADAGASCAR." 

TT  ^HAT  mighty  princes   poets  are!  those 

^  ^  things 

The  great  ones  stick  at,  and  our  very  kings 
Lay  down,  they  venture  on ;  and  with  great  ease 
Discover,  conquer,  what  and  where  they  please. 
Some  phlegmatic  sea-captain  would  have  staid 
For  money  now,  or  victuals ;  not  have  weighed 
Anchor  without  'em ;  thou,  Will.,  dost  not  stay 
So  much  as  for  a  wind,  but  go'st  away, 
Land'st,  view'st  the  country ;  fight'st,  put'st  all 

to  rout. 
Before  another  could  be  putting  out ! 
And  now  the  news  in  town  is — Davenant 's  come 
From  Madagascar,  fraught  with  laurel  home ; 


S(i  TO   HIS   FRIEND     WILL.    DA  VENA  NT. 

And  welcome,  Will.,  for  the   first  time ;    but, 

prithee. 
In  thy  next  voyage  bring  the  gold,  too,  with 

thee. 


TO    HIS     FRIEND     WILL.     DAVENANT. 

upon   his  other  Poems. 

'^  I  ^HOU  hast  redeemed  us,  Will.,  and  future 

-*•  times 

Shall  not  account  unto  the  age's  crimes 
Dearth  of  pure  wit :  since  the  great  lord  of  it, 
Donne,  parted  hence,  no  man  has  ever  writ 
So  near  him  in  's  own  way :  I  would  commend 
Particulars ;  but  then,  how  should  I  end 
Without  a  volume?  every  line  of  thine 
Would  ask,  to  praise  it  right,  twenty  of  mine. 


TO     WILL.    DAVENANT. 
For  Absence, 

WONDER  not,  if  I  stay  here. 
Hurt  lovers,  like  to  wounded  deer. 
Must  shift  the  place  ;  for  standing'still 
Leaves  too  much  time  to  know  our  ill : 
Where  there  is  a  traitor  eye, 
That  lets  in  from  th'  enemy 
All  that  may  supplant  an  heart, 
'Tis  time  the  chief  should  use  some  art. 
Who  parts  the  object  from  the  sense, 
Wisely  cuts  off  intelligence. 
O,  how  quickly  men  must  die, 
Should  they  stand  all  love's  battery  ! 
Persinda's  eyes  great  mischief  do, 
So  do  we  know  the  cannon  too  ; 


7'0     WILL    DAl'EKANT.  59 

But  men  are  safe  at  distance  still  : 
Where  they  reach  not,  they  cannot  kill. 
Love  is  a  fit,  and  soon  is  past, 
111  diet  only  makes  it  last ; 
Who  is  still  looking,  gazing  ever. 
Drinks  wine  i'th'  very  height  o'th'  fever. 


SIR  JOHN  SUCKLING'S  ANSWER. 

T   TELL  thee,  fellow,  whoe'er  thou  be, 
-^     That  made  this  fine  sing-song  of  me, 

Thou  art  a  rhyming  sot ; 
These  very  lines  do  thee  bewray. 
This  barren  wit  makes  all  men  say, 

'Twas  some  rebellious  Scot. 

But  it's  no-  wonder  that  you  sing 
Such  songs  of  me,  who  am  no  king, 

When  every  blue  cap  swears 
He  '11  not  obey  King  James  his  ba'rn. 
That  hugs  a  bishop  under  his  arm. 

And  hangs  them  in  his  ears. 


SIR   JOHN    SUCA'LIXG'S    ANSWER.     6i 

Had  I  been  of  your  covenant, 

You  would  have  call'd  me  John  of  Gaunt, 

And  given  me  great  renown. 
But  now  I  am  John  for  the  King, 
You  say  I  am  but  a  poor  Suckling, 

And  thus  you  cry  me  down. 

Well,  it's  no  matter  what  you  say 
Of  me  or  mine,  that  ran  away  ; 

I  hold  it  no  good  fashion 
A  loyal  subject's  blood  to  spill. 
When  we  have  knaves  enough  to  kill 

By  force  and  proclamation. 

Commend  me  unto  Lashly  stout, 
And  all  his  pedlars  him  about: 

Tell  them  without  remorse 
That  I  will  plunder  all  their  packs 
Which   they   have  gotten,   with   stolen   knick- 
knacks, 
With  these  my  hundred  horse. 


62     SIJi   JOHN    SUCK'HA^G'S    ANSWER. 

This  holy  war,  this  zealous  firk, 
Against  the  bishops  and  the  kirk, 

And  its  pretended  bravery — 
Religion,  all  the  world  can  tell, 
Amongst  Highlanders  ne'er  did  dwell — 

It  's  but  to  cloak  your  knavery. 

Such  desperate  gamesters  as  you  be, 
I  cannot  blame  for  tutoring  me, 

Since  all  you  have  is  down  ; 
And  every  boor  forgets  the  plough, 
And  swears  that  he'll  turn  gamester  now 

And  venture  for  a  crown. 


UPON  SIR    JOHN    LAURENCE'S    BRING- 

ING  WATER   OVER    THE    HILLS    TO 

MY  L.  MIDDLESEX'S    HOUSE    AT 

WITTEN. 

A    ND  is  the  water  come?  sure  't  cannot  be, 
-^    ^     It  runs  too  much  against  philosophy  ; 
For  heavy  bodies  to  the  centre  bend, 
Light  bodies  only  naturally  ascend. 
How   comes   this   then    to    pass  ?      The    good 

knight's  skill 
Could  nothing  do  without  the  water's  will : 

Then  'twas  the  water's  love  that  made  it 
flow. 

For  love  will  creep  where  well  it  cannot  go. 


POUR  L'AMOUR 


PERJURY  EXCUSED. 

ALAS,  it  is  too  late !  I  can  no  more 
Love  now  than  I  have  lov'd  before : 
My  Flora,  'tis  my  fate,  not  I  ; 
And  what  you  call  contempt,  is  destiny. 
I  am  no  monster,  sure,  I  cannot  show 
Two  hearts ;  one  I  already  owe  ; 
And  I  have  bound  myself  with  oaths,  and  vow'd 
Oft'ner  1  fear  than  Heaven  hath  e'er  allow'd. 
That  faces  now  should  work  no  more  on  me, 
Than  if  they  could  not  charm,  or  I  not  see. 
And  shall  I  break  them  ?  shall  I  think  you  can 
Love,  if  I  could,  so  foul  a  perjur'd  man  ? 
O  no,  'tis  equally  impossible  that  I 
Should  love  again,  or  you  love  perjury. 


LOVE'S  BURNING-GLASS. 

WONDERING  long,  how  I  could  harmless 
see 
Men  gazing  on  those  beams  that  fired  me ; 
At  last  I  found  it  was  the  crystal-love 
Before  my  heart,  that  did  the  heat  improve : 
Which,  by  contracting  of  those  scatter'd  rays 
Into  itself,  did  so  produce  my  blaze. 
Now  lighted  by  my  love,  I  see  the  same 
Beams  dazzle  those,  that  me  are  wont  t'  inflame. 
And  now  I  bless  my  love,  when  I  do  think 
By  how  much  I  had  rather  bum  than  wink. 
But  how  much  happier  were  it  thus  to  burn, 
If  I  had  liberty  to  choose  my  urn  ! 
But  since  those  beams  do  promise  only  fire. 
This  flame  shall  purge  me  of  the  dross — desire. 


THE   MIRACLE. 

IF  thou  be'st  ice,  I  do  admire 
How  thou  couldst  set  my  heart  on  fire  ; 
Or  how  thy  fire  could  kindle  me, 
Thou  being  ice,  and  not  melt  thee  ; 
But  even  my  flames,  light  as  thy  own. 
Have  hardened  thee  into  a  stone ! 
Wonder  of  love,  that  canst  fulfil. 
Inverting  nature  thus,  thy  will; 
Making  ice  one  another  burn, 
Whilst  itself  doth  harder  turn. 


A    SUPPLEMENT    OF    AN    IMPERFECT 

COPY  OF  VERSES  OF  MR.  WILLIAM 

SHAKESPEARE'S. 

By  Sir  JoJui  Suckling. 

^NE  of  her  hands  one  of  her  cheeks  lay- 
under. 

Cozening  the  pillow  of  a  lawful  kiss, 
Which  therefore  swell'd,  and   seemed  to   part 
asunder, 
As  angry  to  be  robb'd  of  such  a  bliss ! 
The  one  look'd  pale  and   for  revenge  did 

long, 
While  t'other  blushed,  'cause  it  had  done 
the  wrong. 


A    SUPPLE.\fEN-T    OF    VERSES.         71 

Out  of  the  bed  the  other  fair  hand  was 

On  a  green  satin  quilt,  whose  perfect  white 
Looked  like  a  daisy  in  a  field  of  grass, 
And  showed  like  unmelt  snow  unto  the  sight ; 
There  lay  this  pretty  perdu,  safe  to  keep 
The  rest  o'th'  body  that  lay  fast  asleep. 

Her  eyes  (and  therefore  it  was  night),  close  laid. 

Strove  to  imprison  beauty  till  the  morn: 
But  yet  the  doors  were  of  such  fine  stuff  made. 
That  it  broke  through,  and  show'd  itself  in 
scorn. 
Throwing  a  kind  of  light  about  the  place, 
Which  turned  to  smiles  still,  as't  came  near 
her  face, 

Her  beams,  which  some  dull  men  called  hair, 

divided, 
Part  with  her  cheeks,  part  v/ith  her  lips  did 

sport. 
But  these,  as  rude,  her  breath  put  by  ;  still  some 


7T         A     SUPPLE  MEN  7'    OF    VERSES. 

Wiselier  downwards  sought,  but  falling  short, 
Curled  back  in  rings,  and  seem'd  to  turn 

again 
To  bite  the  part  so  unkindly  held  them  in. 


LOVE'S  WORLD. 

T  N  each  man's  heart  that  doth  begin 
-■-     To  love,  there  's  ever  framed  within 

A  little  world,  for  so  I  found 

When  first  my  passion  reason  drown'd. 

EARTH. 

Instead  of  Earth  unto  this  frame, 
I  had  a  faith  was  still  the  same ; 
For  to  be  right  it  doth  behove' 
It  be  as  that,  fixed  and  not  move. 

Yet  as  the  Earth  may  sometimes  shake 
(For  winds  shut  up  will  cause  a  quake), 
So  often  jealousy  and  fear, 
Stol'n  into  mine,  cause  tremblings  there. 


74  LOVE'S     WORLD. 

SUN. 

My  Flora  was  my  Sun  ;  for  as 

One  Sun,  so  but  one  Flora,  was ; 

All  other  faces  borrow'd  hence 

Their  light  and  grace,  as  stars  do  thence. 

MOON. 

My  hopes  I  call  my  Moon  ;  for  they 
Inconstant  still  were  at  no  stay ; 
But  as  my  sun  inclin'd  to  me, 
Or  more  or  less  were  sure  to  be. 

Sometimes  it  would  be  full,  and  then 
O,  too — too  soon  decrease  again  ; 
Eclips'd  sometimes  that  'twould  so  fall 
There  would  appear  no  hope  at  all. 

STARS   AND    PLANETS. 

My  thoughts,  'cause  infinite  they  be, 
Must  be  those  many  Stars  we  see  ; 
Of  which  some  wandered  at  their  will. 
But  most  on  her  were  fixed  still. 


LOVES     WORLD.  75 

ELEMENT   OF   FIRE. 

My  burning  flame  and  hot  desire 
Must  be  the  Element  of  Fire, 
Which  hath  as  yet  so  secret  been, 
That  it,  as  that,  was  never  seen. 

No  kitchen  fire  nor  eating  flame. 
But  innocent,  hot  but  in  name  ; 
A  fire  that's  starved  when  fed,  and  gone 
When  too  much  fuel  is  laid  on. 

But,  as  it  plainly  doth  appear, 
That  fire  subsists  by  being  near 
The  moon's  bright  orb  ;  so  I  believe 
Ours  doth,  for  hope  keeps  love  alive. 

AIR. 

My  fancy  was  the  Air,  most  free 
And  full  of  mutability  ; 
Big  with  chimeras,  vapours  here 
Innumerable  hatch'd,  as  there. 


70  LOVE'S    WORLD. 

SEA. 

The  Sea's  my  mind,  which  calm  would  be 
Were  it  from  winds,  my  passions,  free  ; 
But  out  alas  !  no  Sea  I  find 
Is  troubled  like  a  lover's  mind. 

Within  it  rocks  and  shallows  be : 
Despair  and  fond  credulity. 

DAY   AND   NIGHT. 

But  in  this  world  it  were  good  reason 
We  did  distinguish  time  and  season  ; 
Her  presence  then  did  make  the  Day, 
And  Night  shall  come  when  she's  away. 

WINTER  AND   SUMMER. 

Long  absence  in  far  distant  place 
Creates  the  Winter  ;  and  the  space 
She  tarried  with  me,  well  I  might 
Call  it  my  Summer  of  delight. 


LOVE'S    WORLD.  77 

Diversity  of  weather  came 
From  what  she  did,  and  thence  had  name ; 
Sometimes  sh'  would  smile — that  made  it  fair ; 
And  when  she  laughed,  the  sun  shined  clear. 

Sometimes   sh'  would    frown,   and    sometimes 

weep, 
So  clouds  and  rain  their  turns  do  keep  ; 
Sometimes  again  sh'  would  be  all  ice, 
Extremely  cold,  extremely  nice. 

But  soft,  my  muse  ;  the  world  is  wide, 
And  all  at  once  was  not  descried  : 
It  may  fall  out  some  honest  lover 
The  rest  hereafter  will  discover. 


THAT  none  beguiled   be  by  Time's  quick 
flowing, 
Lovers  have  in  their  hearts  a  clock  still  going ; 
For  though  Time  be  nimble,  his  motions 
Are  quicker 
And  thicker 
Where  Love  hath  his  notions : 

Hope  is  the  mainspring  on  which  moves  Desire, 
And  these  do  the  less  wheels,  Fear,  Joy,  inspire. 
The  balance  is  Thought,  evermore 
Clicking 
And  striking, 
And  ne'er  giving  o'er. 

Occasion  's  the  hand  which  still  's  moving  round, 
Till  by  it  the  critical  hour  may  be  found. 


POEMS.  79 

And  when  that  falls  out,  it  will  strike 

Kisses, 

Strange  blisses, 
And  what  you  best  like. 


THE  INVOCATION. 

YE  juster  powers  of  Love  and  Fate, 
Give  me  the  reason  why 
A  lover  cross'd 
And  all  hopes  lost 
May  not  have  leave  to  die. 

It  is  but  just,  and  Love  needs  must 
Confess  it  is  his  part, 

When  he  doth  spy 

One  wounded  lie. 
To  pierce  the  other's  heart. 


THE    Ii\  VOCATION.  8r 


But  yet  if  he  so  cruel  be 
To  have  one  breast  to  hate. 
If  I  must  live 
And  thus  survive, 
How  far  more  cruel  's  Fate? 

In  this  same  state  I  find  too  late 
I  am  ;  and  here's  the  grief: 
Cupid  can  cure, 
Death  heal,  I'm  sure. 
Yet  neither  sends  relief. 

To  live  or  die,  beg  only  I : 
Just  Powers,  some  end  me  give ; 
And  traitor-like 
Thus  force  me  not 
Without  a  heart  to  live. 


THE   EXPOSTULATION. 

TELL  me,  ye  juster  deities, 
That  pity  lovers'  miseries. 
Why  should  my  own  unworthiness 
Fright  me  to  seek  my  happiness  ? 
It  is  as  natural  as  just 
Him  for  to  love,  whom  needs  I  must 
All  men  confess  that  Love's  a  fire, 
Then  who  denies  it  to  aspire  ? 


Tell  me,  if  thou  wert  fortune's  thrall, 
Wouldst  thou  not  raise  thee  from  the  fall  ? 
Seek  only  to  o'erlook  thy  state, 
Whereto  thou  art  condemn'd  by  fate? 
Then  let  me  love  my  Corydon, 


THE    EXPOSTULATION.  83 

And  by  Love's  leave,  him  love  alone : 

For  I  have  read  of  stories  oft, 

That  Love  hath  wings,  and  soars  aloft. 

Then  let  me  grow  in  my  desire, 

Though  I  be  martyr 'd  in  that  fire : 

For  grace  it  is  enough  for  me, 

But  only  to  love  such  as  he  : 

For  never  shall  my  thoughts  be  base. 

Though  luckless,  yet  without  disgrace  : 

Then  let  him  that  my  love  shall  blame. 

Or  clip  Love's  wings,  or  quench  Love's  flame. 


DETRACTION  EXECRATED. 

THOU  vermin  slander,  bred  in  abject  minds 
Of    thoughts    impure,   by  vile   tongues 

animate, 
Canker  of  conversation  !  couldst  thou  find 
Nought  but  our  love  whereon  to  show  thy  hate  ? 
Thou  never  wert  when  we  two  were  alone ; 
What  canst  thou  witness  then?  thy  base,  dull 

aid 
Was  useless  in  our  conversation, 
Where  each  meant  more  than  could  by  both  be 

said. 
Whence  hadst  thou  thy  intelligence ;  from  earth  ? 
That  part  of  us  ne'er  knew  that  we  did  love : 
Or  from  the  air  ?  Our  gentle  sighs  had  birth 
From  such  sweet  raptures  as  to  joy  did  move : 


DETKACTIOX    EXECRATED.  S5 

Our  thoughts,  as  pure  as  the  chaste  morning's 

breath, 
When  from  the  night's  cold  arms  it  creeps  away, 
Were  cloth'd  in  words  ;  and  maiden's  blush  that 

hath 
More  purity,  more  innocence  than  they. 
Nor  from  the  water  couldst  thou  have  this  tale; 
No  briny  tear  hath  furrow'd  her  smooth  cheek  ? 
And  I  was  pleased  ;  I  pray  what  should  he  ail 
That  had  her  love,  for  what  else  could  he  seek  ? 
We  shorten'd  days  to  moments  by  love's  art, 
Whilst  our  two  souls  in  amorous  ecstasy 
Perceiv'd  no  passing  time,  as  if  a  part 
Our  love  had  been  of  still  eternity : 
Much  less  could  have  it  from  the  purer  fire : 
Our  heat  exhales  no  vapour  from  coarse  sense, 
Such  as  are  hopes,  or  fears,  or  fond  desire ; 
Our  mutual  love  itself  did  recompense. 
Thou  hast  no  correspondence  had  in  heaven. 
And  th'  elemental  world  thou  see'st  is  free : 
Whence  hadst  thou  then  this  talkinj^j,  monster  } 


86  DETRACTION   EXECRATED, 

From  hell,  a  harbour  fit  for  it  and  thee. 

Curs'd  be  th'  officious  tongue  that  did  address 

Thee  to  her  ears,  to  ruin  my  content : 

May  it  one  minute  taste  such  happiness, 

Deserving  lose  't,  unpitied  it  lament ! 

I  must  forbear  her  sight,  and  so  repay 

In  grief  those  hours  joy  shortened  to  a  dram  : 

Each  minute  I  will  lengthen  to  a  day, 

And  in  one  year  outlive  Methusalem. 


LOVE'S   REPRESENTATION. 

LEANING  her  head  upon  my  breast, 
There  on  Love's  bed  she  lay  to  rest; 
My  panting  heart  rock'd  her  asleep, 
My  heedful  eyes  the  watch  did  keep; 
Then  Love  by  me  being  harbour'd  there, 
In  Hope  to  be  his  harbinger, 
Desire  his  rival  kept  the  door  ; 
For  this  of  him  I  begg'd  no  more, 
But  that,  our  mistress  t'  entertain, 
Some  pretty  fancy  he  would  frame. 
And  represent  it  in  a  dream, 
Of  which  myself  should  give  the  theme. 
Then  first  these  thoughts  I  bade  him  shov/, 
Which  only  he  and  I  did  know, 
Array'd  in  duty  and  respect. 


8S  LOVE'S    REPRESENTATION. 

And  not  in  fancies  that  reflect, 

Then  those  of  v^alue  next  present, 

Approv'd  by  all  the  world's  consent ; 

But  to  distinguish  mine  asunder, 

Apparell'd  they  must  be  in  wonder. 

Such  a  device  then  I  would  have, 

As  service,  not  reward,  should  crave, 

Attir'd  in  spotless  innocence, 

Nor  self-respect,  nor  no  pretense  : 

Then  such  a  faith  I  would  have  shown. 

As  heretofore  was  never  known. 

Cloth'd  with  a  constant  clear  intent. 

Professing  always  as  it  meant. 

And  if  Love  no  such  garments  have. 

My  mind  a  wardrobe  is  so  brave. 

That  there  sufficient  he  may  see 

To  clothe  Impossibility. 

Then  beamy  fetters  he  shall  find. 

By  Admiration  subt'ly  twin'd. 

That  will  keep  fast  the  wanton'st  thought. 

That  e'er  imagination  wrought : 


LOVE'S    REPRESEiVTATION.  8q 

There  he  shall  find  of  Joy  a  chain, 

Fram'd  by  Despair  of  her  disdain, 

So  curiously  that  it  can't  tie 

The  smallest  Hopes  that  Thoughts  nov/  spy. 

There  Acts,  as  glorious  as  the  sun, 

Are  by  her  veneration  spun, 

In  one  of  which  I  would  have  brought 

A  pure,  unspotted  abstract  thought. 

Considering  her  as  she  is  good, 

Not  in  her  frame  of  flesh  and  blood. 

These  atoms  then,  all  in  her  sight, 

I  bade  him  join,  that  so  he  might 

Discern  between  true  Love's  creation, 

And  that  Love's  form  that  's  now  in  fashion. 

Love  granting  unto  my  request 

Began  to  labour  in  my  breast; 

But  with  this  motion  he  did  make. 

It  heav'd  so  high  that  she  did  v/ake. 

Blush'd  at  the  favour  she  had  done. 

Then  smil'd,  and  then  away  did  run. 


NON  EST  MO  R  TALE  QUOD  OP  TO. 

TO  MRS.  A.  L. 

THOU  think'st  I  flatter,  when  thy  praise  I 
tell, 
But  thou  dost  all  hyperboles  excel ; 
For  I  am  sure  thou  art  no  mortal  creature, 
But  a  divine  one,  thron'd  in  human  feature. 
Thy  piety  is  such,  that  heaven  by  merit, 
If  ever  any  did,  thou  shouldst  inherit. 
Thy  modesty  is  such,  that  hadst  thou  been 
Tempted  as  Eve,  thou  wouldst  have  shunn'd  her 

sin. 
So  lovely  fair  thou  art,  that  sure  Dame  Nature 
Meant  thee  the  pattern  of  the  female  creature 


TO    MKS.    A.    L.  91 

Besides  all  this,  thy  flowing  wit  is  such, 
That  were  it  not  in  thee,  it  had  been  too  much 
For  womankind  :  should  envy  look  thee  o'er, 
It  would  confess  thus  much,  if  not  much  more. 
I  love  thee  well,  yet  wish  some  bad  in  thee. 
For  sure  I  am  thou  art  too  good  for  me. 


UPON  TWO  SISTERS.   " 

BELIEVE  'T  young  man,  I  can  as  eas'ly  tell 
How  many  yards  and  inches  'tis  to  hell ; 
Unriddle  all  predestination. 
Or  the  nice  points  we  now  dispute  upon, 

Had  the  three  goddesses  been  just  as  fair — 
****** 

It  had  not  been  so  easily  decided, 
And  sure  the  apple  must  have  been  divided  : 
It  must ,  it  must ;  he's  impudent,  dares  say 
Which  is  the  handsomer  till  one's  away. 
And  it  was  necessary  it  should  be  so  ; 
While  Nature  did  foresee  it,  and  did  know. 
When  she  had  fram'd  the  elder,  that  each  heart 
Must  at  the  first  sight  feel  the  blind  god's  dart : 
And  sure  as  can  be,  had  she  made  but  one. 


UPON    TV/0    SISTERS.  93 

No  plague  had  been  more  sure  destruction ; 

For  we  had  lik'd,  lov'd,  burnt  to  ashes  too, 

In  half  the  time  that  we  are  choosing  now : 

Variety  and  equal  objects  make 

The  busy  eye  still  doubtful  which  to  take ; 

This  lip,  this  hand,  this  foot,  this  eye,  this  face. 

The  other's  body,  gesture,  or  her  grace  ; 

And  whilst  we  thus  dispute  which  of  the  two. 

We  unresolv'd  go  out,  and  nothing  do. 

He  sure  is  happiest  that  has  hopes  of  either, 

Next  him  is  he  that  sees  them  both  togfether. 


TO  HIS  RIVAL. 

""^T  OW  we  have  taught  our  love  to  know, 
-'  ^      That  it  must  creep  where  't  cannot  go. 
And  be  for  once  content  to  live, 
Since  here  it  cannot  have  to  thrive ; 
It  will  not  be  amiss  t'  inquire 
What  fuel  should  maintain  this  fire  : 
For  fires  do  either  flame  too  high. 
Or,  where  they  cannot  flame,  they  die. 
First  then,  my  half  but  better  heart. 
Know  this  must  wholly  be  her  part ; 
(For  thou  and  I  like  clocks  are  wound 
Up  to  the  height,  and  must  move  round) : 
She  then,  by  still  denying  what 
We  fondly  crave,  shall  such  a  rate 
Set  on  each  a  trifle,  that  a  kiss 


TO    HIS    RIVAL.  95 

Shall  come  to  be  the  utmost  bliss. 

Where  sparks  and  fire  do  meet  with  tinder, 

Those  sparks  more  fire  will  still  engender  : 

To  make  this  good,  no  debt  shall  be 

From  service  or  fidelity  ; 

For  she  shall  ever  pay  that  score, 

By  only  bidding  us  do  more  : 

So,  though  she  still  a  niggard  be, 

In  gracing,  where  none's  due,  she's  free: 

The  favours  she  shall  cast  on  us, 

Lest  we  should  grow  presumptuous, 

Shall  not  with  too  much  love  be  shown. 

Nor  yet  the  common  v/ay  still  done ; 

But  ev'ry  smile  and  little  glance 

Shall  look  half  lent,  and  half  by  chance : 

The  ribbon,  fan,  or  muff  that  she 

Would  should  be  kept  by  thee  or  me, 

Should  not  be  giv'n  before  too  many. 

But  neither  thrown  to'  s,  when  there's  any ; 

So  that  herself  should  doubtful  be 

Whether  'twere  fortune  fiune  't.  or  she. 


96  TO    HIS    RIVAL. 

She  shall  not  like  the  thing  we  do 
Sometimes,  and  yet  shall  like  it  too ; 
Nor  any  notice  take  at  all 
Of  what,  we  gone,  she  would  extol: 
Love  she  shall  feed,  but  fear  to  nourish. 
For  where  fear  is.  Love  cannot  flourish  ; 
Yet  live  it  must,  nay  must  and  shall. 
While  Desdemona  is  at  all :  ' 

But  when  she's  gone,  then  Love  shall  die, 
And  in  her  grave  buried  lie. 


MY  dearest  rival,  lest  our  love 
Should  with  eccentric  motion  move, 
Before  it  learn  to  go  astray. 
We'll  teach  and  set  it  in  a  way, 
And  such  directions  give  unto  't. 
That  it  shall  never  wander  foot. 
Know  first  then,  we  will  serve  as  true 
For  one  poor  smile,  as  we  would  do, 
If  we  had  what  our  higher  flame. 
Or  our  vainer  wish,  could  frame. 
Impossible  shall  be  our  hope; 
And  Love  shall  only  have  his  scope 
To  join  with  Fancy  now  and  then, 
And  think  what  Reason  would  condemn : 
And  on  these  grounds  we'll  love  as  true. 
As  if  they  v/ere  most  sure  t'  ensue  : 


98  POEMS. 

And  chastely  for  these  things  we'll  stay, 
As  if  to-morrow  were  the  day. 
Meantime  we  two  will  teach  our  hearts 
In  love's  burdens  bear  their  parts  : 
Thou  first  shalt  sigh,  and  say  she's  fair  ; 
And  I'll  still  answer,  "  past  compare." 
Thou  shalt  set  out  each  part  o'th'  face. 
While  I  extol  each  little  grace  ; 
Thou  shalt  be  ravish'd  at  her  wit ; 
And  I,  that  she  so  governs  it : 
Thou  shalt  like  well  that  hand,  that  eye. 
That  lip,  that  look,  that  majesty  ; 
And  in  good  language  them  adore  : 
While  I  want  words  and  do  it  more. 
Yea,  we  v/ill  sit  and  sigh  awhile, 
And  with  soft  thoughts  some  time  beguile 
But  straight  again  break  out,  and  praise 
All  we  had  done  before,  new  ways. 
Thus  will  v/e  do  till  paler  death 
Come  with  a  warrant  for  our  breath. 
And  then  whose  fate  shall  be  to  die, 


POEMS.  09 

First  of  us  two,  by  legacy 
Shall  all  his  store  bequeath,  and  give 
His  love  to  him  that  shall  survive ; 
For  no  one  stock  can  ever  serve     ; 
To  love  so  much  as  she'll  deserve. 


CONTRE  L'AMOUR 


LOVE  AND  DEBT  ALIKE  TROUBLE- 
SOME. 


T 


HIS  one  request  I  make  to  him  that  sits 
the  clouds  above, 
That  I  were  freely  out  of  debt,  as  I  am  out  of 

love. 
Then  for  to  dance,  to  drink  and  sing,  I  should 

be  very  willing, 
I   should   not  owe  one  lass  a  kiss,  nor  e'er  a 

knave  a  shilling. 
'Tis  only  being  in  love  and  debt  that  breaks  us 

of  our  rest ; 
And  he  that  is  quite  out  of  both,  of  all  the  world 

is  blest : 
He  sees  the  golden  age,  wherein  all  things  were 

free  and  common  ; 


I04  LOVE  AND   DEBT  TROUBLESOME. 

He  eats,  he  drinks,  he  takes  his  rest,  he  fears  no 

man  or  woman. 
Though  Croesus  compassed  great  wealth,  yet  he 

still  craved  more, 
He  was  as  needy  a  beggar   stiil,  as  goes  from 

door  to  door. 
Though  Ovid  was  a  merry  man,  love  ever  kept 

him  sad  ; 
He  was  as  far  from  happiness,  as  one  that  is 

stark  mad. 
Our  merchant  he  in  goods  is  rich,  and  full  of 

gold  and  treasure ; 
But  when  he  thinks  upon  his  debts,  that  thought 

destroys  his  pleasure. 
Our  courtier  thinks  that  he's  preferred,  whom 

every  man  envies ; 
When  love  so  rumbles  in   his   pate,   no   sleep 

comes  in  his  eyes. 
Ou-r  gallant's  case  is  worst  of  all,  he  lies  so  just 

betwixt  them ; 


LOVE  AND  DEBT  TROUBLESOME.   105 

For  he's  in  love,  and  he's  in  debt,  and  knows 

not  which  most  vex'th  him. 
But  he  that  can  eat  beef,  and   feed  on  bread  /^ 

which  is  so  brown 
May  satisfy  his  appetite,  and   owe  no  man  a 

crown. 


THE  CONSTANT   LOVER. 

[A  Poem,  with  the  Answer^ 

THE   POEM. 

Sir  J.  S. 

OUT  upon  it,  I  have  lov'd 
Three  whole  days  together ; 
And  am  like  to  love  three  more, 
If  it  prove  fair  weather. 

Time  shall  moult  away  his  wings. 

Ere  he  shall  discover 
In  the  whole  wide  world  again 

Such  a  constant  lover. 


THE    CONSTANT    LOVER.  107 

But  the  spite  on  't  is,  no  praise 

Is  due  at  all  to  me  : 
Love  with  me  had  made  no  stays. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she, 

And  that  very  face, 
There  had  been  at  least  ere  this 

A  dozen  dozen  in  her  place. 


The  Answer, 

Sir  Toby  Matthews. 

SAY,  but  did  you  love  so  long  ? 
In  troth,  I  needs  must  blame  you 
Passion  did  your  judgment  wrong. 
Or  want  of  reason  shame  you. 


io8  THE    CONSTANT   LOVER. 

Truth,  Time's  fair  and  v\utty  daughter. 

Shortly  shall  discover, 
Y'  are  a  subject  fit  for  laughter. 

And  more  fool  than  lover. 

But  I  grant  you  merit  praise 

For  your  constant  folly : 
Since  you  doted  three  whole  days, 

Were  you  not  melancholy  ? 

She  to  whom  you  prov'd  so  true. 

And  that  very,  very  face. 
Puts  each  minute  such  as  you 

A  dozen  dozen  to  disgrace. 


LOVE  TURNED  TO   HATRED. 

I  WILL  not  love  one  minute  more,  I  swear, 
No,  not  a  minute  ;  not  a  sigh  or  tear 
Thou  gett'st  from  me,  or  one  kind  look  again, 
Though  thou  shouldst  court  me  to't  and  wouldst 

begin. 
I  will  not  think  of  thee,  but  as  men  do 
Of  debts  and  sins,  and  then  I'll  curse  thee  too : 
For  thy  sake  woman  shall  be  now  to  me 
Less  welcome,  than  at   midnight  ghosts  shall 

be; 
I'll  hate  so  perfectly,  that  it  shall  be 
Treason  to  love  that  man  that  loves  a  she ; 


no      LU'/E     TURNED     TO    HA  7 'T TV. 

Nay,  I  will  hate  the  very  good,  I  swear, 
That's  in  thy  sex,  because  it  doth  lie  there ; 
Their  very  virtue,  grace,  discourse  and  wit. 
And  all  for  thee ;  what,  wilt  thou  love  me  yet  ? 


\ 


VERSES. 

T   AM  confirmed  a  woman  can 
-■-     Love  this,  or  that,  or  any  other  man  ; 
This  day  she  's  melting  hot, 
To-morrow  swears  she  knows  you  not ; 
If  she  but  a  new  object  find, 
Then  straight  she  's  of  another  mind. 

Then  hang  me,  ladies,  at  your  door. 

If  e'er  I  doat  upon  you  more. 


Yet  still  I  love  the  fairsome  (why  ?  v^ 

For  nothing  but  to  please  my  eye); 
And  so  the  fat  and  soft-skinn'd  dame 
I  '11  flatter  to  appease  my  flame ; 
For  she  that's  musical  I  '11  long, 


1 1 2  VERSES. 

When  I  am  sad,  to  sing  a  song. 
Then  hang  me,  ladies,  at  your  door, 
If  e'er  I  doat  upon  you  more. 

I  '11  give  my  fancy  leave  to  range 
Through  everywhere  to  find  out  change  ; 
The  black,  the  brown,  the  fair  shall  be 
But  objects  of  variety ; 
I  '11  court  you  all  to  serve  my  turn, 
But  with  such  flames  as  shall  not  burn. 
Then  hang  me,  ladies,  at  your  door. 
If  e'er  I  doat  upon  you  more. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  A  HEART. 

'^  I  ^IS  now  since  I  sat  down  before 
-*-       That  foolish  fort,  a  heart ; 

(Time  strangely  spent !)  a  year  and  more. 
And  still  I  did  my  part : 

Made  my  approaches,  from  her  hand 

Unto  her  lip  did  rise, 
And  did  already  understand 

The  language  of  her  eyes. 

Proceeded  on  with  no  less  art, 

(My  tongue  was  engineer  ;) 
I  thought  to  undermine  the  heart 

By  whispering  in  the  ear. 


V 


114  THE    SIEGE    OF   A    HEART. 


When  this  did  nothing,  I  brought  down 
Great  cannon-oaths,  and  shot 

A  thousand  thousand  to  the  town. 
And  still  it  yielded  not. 

I  then  resolv'd  to  starve  the  place 

By  cutting  off  all  kisses. 
Praying  and  gazing  on  her  face. 

And  all  such  little  blisses. 

To  draw  her  out,  and  from  her  strength 

I  drew  all  batteries  in  : 
And  brought  myself  to  lie  at  length, 

As  if  no  siege  had  been. 

When  I  had  done  what  man  could  do. 
And  thought  the  place  mine  own. 

The  enemy  lay  quiet  too, 
And  smil'd  at  all  was  done. 

I  sent  to  know,  from  whence,  and  where, 
These  hopes  and  this  relief.'* 


THE    SIEGE    OF   A    HEART.  115 

A  spy  informed,  Honour  was  there. 
And  did  command  in  chief. 

"  March,  march,"  quoth  I,  "  the  word  straight 
give, 

"  Let's  lose  no  time,  but  leave  her  ; 
"  That  giant  upon  air  will  live, 

"  And  hold  it  out  for  ever. 

"  To  such  a  place  our  camp  remove, 

"  As  will  no  siege  abide  ; 
"  I  hate  a  fool  that  starves  her  love, 

"  Only  to  feed  her  pride." 


u^ 


LOVING  AND  BELOVED. 

'  I  ^HERE  never  yet  was  honest  man 

-*-       That  ever  drove  the  trade  of  love ; 
It  is  impossible,  nor  can 
Integrity  our  ends  promove ; 
For  kings  and  lovers  are  alike  in  this, 
That  their  chief  art  in  reign  dissembling  is. 

Here  we  are  lov'd,  and  there  we  love : 

Good-nature  nov/  and  passion  strive  ! 
Which  of  the  two  should  be  above. 
And  laws  unto  the  other  give. 
So  we  false  fire  with  arts  sometimes  discover, 
And  the  true  fire  with  the  same  art  do  cover. 


LOVING    AND    BELOVED.  117 

What  rack  can  fancy  find  so  high  ? 

Here  we  must  court,  and  here  engage ; 
Though  in  the  other  place  we  die. 
O,  'tis  torture  all,  and  cozenage  ! 
And  which  the  harder  is  I  cannot  tell. 
To  hide  true  love,  or  make  false  love  look  well. 

Since  it  is  thus,  god  of  desire, 
Give  me  my  honesty  again. 
And  take  thy  brands  back,  and  thy  fire  ; 
I'm  weary  of  the  state  I'm  in  : 
Since,  if  the  very  best  should  now  befall. 
Love's  triumph  must  be  Honour's  funeral. 


THE  DISCOMFORT  OF  LOVE. 

IF  when  Don  Cupid's  dart 
Doth  wound  a  heart. 
We  hide  our  grief 
And  shun  relief ; 
^\    The  smart  increaseth  on  that  score  ; 

For  wounds  unsearched  but  rankle  more. 

Then  if  we  whine,  look  pale, 
And  tell  our  tale, 

Men  are  in  pain 

For  us  again ; 
So  neither  speaking  doth  become 
The  lover's  state,  nor  being  dumb. 


THE  METAMORPHOSIS. 

''  I  ^HE    little    boy,    to   show    his    might   and 

-■-  power, 

Turn'd  lo  to  a  cow.  Narcissus  to  a  flower  ; 
Transform 'd  Apollo  to  a  homely  swain. 
And  Jove  himself  into  a  golden  rain. 
These  shapes  were  tolerable,  but  by  the  mass 
He  's  metamorphosed  me  into  an  ass. 


AGAINST   ABSENCE. 

MY  whining  lover,  what  needs  all 
These  vows  of  life  monastical  ? 
Despairs,  retirements,  jealousies, 
And  subtle  sealing  up  of  eyes  ? 
Come,  come,  be  wise  ;  return  again, 
A  finger  burnt  's  as  great  a  pain  ; 
And  the  same  physic,  self-same  art 
Cures  that,  would  cure  a  flaming  heart, 
Wouldst  thou,  whilst  yet  the  fire  is  in  it. 
But  hold  it  to  the  fire  again? 
If  you,  dear  sir,  the  plague  have  got. 
What  matter  is  't  whether  or  not 
They  let  you  in  the  same  house  lie. 
Or  carry  you  abroad  to  die  ? 
He  whom  the  plague,  or  love,  once  takes, 


AGAINST    ABSENCE.  121 

Every  room  a  pest-house  makes. 
Absence  were  good  if  *t  were  but  sense, 
That  only  holds  th'  intelligence  : 
Pure  love  alone  no  hurt  would  do, 
But  love  is  love  and  magic  too  ; 
Brings  a  mistress  a  thousand  miles, 
And  the  sleight  of  looks  beguiles. 
Makes  her  entertain  thee  there, 
And  the  same  time  your  rival  here ; 
And  (O  the  d — 1)  that  she  should 
Say  finer  things  now  than  she  would  ; 
So  nobly  fancy  doth  supply 
What  the  dull  sense  lets  fall  and  die. 
Beauty,  like  man's  old  enemy,  is  known 
To  tempt  him  most  when  he  's  alone : 
The  air  of  some  wild  o'ergrown  wood 
Or  pathless  grove  is  the  boy's  food. 
Return  then  back,  and  feed  thine  eye. 
Feed  all  thy  senses,  and  feast  high. 
Spare  diet  is  the  cause  love  lasts, 
For  surfeits  sooner  kill  than  fasts. 


AGAINST  REALIZATION. 

FIE  upon  hearts  that  burn  with  mutual  fire: 
I  hate  two  minds  that  breathe  but  one 

desire : 
Were  I  to  curse  th'  unhallow'd  sort  of  men, 
I'd  wish  them  to  love,  and  be  lov'd  again. 
Love's  a  chameleon,  that  lives  on  mere  air  ; 
And  surfeits  when  it  comes  to  grosser  fare  : 
'Tis  petty  jealousies  and  little  fears, 
Hopes  join'd  with  doubts,  and  joys  with  April 

tears, 
That  crown  our  love  with  pleasures  :  these  are 

gone 
When  once  we  come  to  full  fruition. 
Like  waking  in  a  morning,  when  all  night 
Our  fancy  hath  been  fed  with  true  delight. 


AGAINST    REALIZATION.  123 

O,  what  a  stroke  'twould  be !  sure  I  should  die, 

Should  I  but  hear  my  mistress  once  say  ay. 

That  monster  expectation  feeds  too  high 

For  any  woman  e'er  to  satisfy : 

Then,  fairest  mistress,  hold  the  power  you  have, 

By  still  denying  what  we  still  do  crave : 

In  keeping  us  in  hopes  strange  things  to  see 

That  never  were,  nor  are,  nor  e'er  shall  be. 


NO    EXCLUSIVE    PROPERTY    IN    LOVE. 

THERE  never  yet  was  woman  made. 
Nor  shall,  but  to  be  curs'd, 
And  O,  that  I,  fond  I,  should  first, 

Of  any  lover 
This  truth  at  my  own  charge  to  other  fools  dis- 
cover ! 

You  that  have  promised  to  yourselves 

Propriety  in  love, 
Know  women's  hearts  like  straw  do  move  ; 

And  what  we  call 
Their  sympathy,  is  but  love  to  jet  in  general. 

All  mankind  are  alike  to  them  ; 
And  though  we  iron  find 


KO    EXCLUSIVE    PROPERTY.         125 

That  never  with  a  loadstone  joined, 

'Tis  not  the  iron's  fault, 
It  is  because  near  the  loadstone  yet  it  was  never 

brought. 


A  PLAY  AT  BARLEY-BREAK. 

LOVE,  Reason,  Hate,  did  once  bespeak 
Three  mates  to  play  at  barley-break  ; 
Love,  Folly  took  ;  and  Reason,  Fancy ; 
And  Hate  consorts  with  Pride ;  so  dance  they. 
Love  coupled  last,  and  so  it  fell. 
That  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell. 

\  They  break,  and  Love  would  Reason  meet. 

But  Hate  was  nimbler  on  her  feet ; 
I  Fancy  looks  for  Pride,  and  thither 

Hies,  and  they  two  hug  together : 
Yet  this  new  coupling  still  doth  tell, 
That  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell. 


A    PLAY    AT    BARLEY-BREAK.       127 

The  rest  do  break  again,  and  Pride 
Hath  now  got  Reason  on  her  side; 
Hate  and  Fancy  meet,  and  stand 
Untouched  by  Love  in  Folly's  hand ; 
Folly  was  dull,  but  Love  ran  well ; 
So  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell. 


THE  GUILTLESS  INCONSTANT. 

MY  first  love,  whom  all  beauties  did  adoi n, 
Firing  my  heart,  suppress'd  it  with  her 
scorn ; 
Since  like  the  tinder  in  my  breast  it  lies, 
By  every  sparkle  made  a  sacrifice. 
And    now    my  wand'ring    thoughts    are    not 

confin'd 
Unto  one  woman,  but  to  womankind  : 
This  for  her  shape  I  love,  that  for  her  face, 
This  for  her  gesture,  or  some  other  grace  : 
And  so  I  hope  since  my  first  hope  is  gone, 
To  find  in  many  what  I  lost  in  one  ; 
And  like  to  merchants  after  some  great  loss. 
Trade  by  retail,  that  cannot  do  in  gross. 
The  fault  is  hers  that  made  me  go  astray, 


THE    GUILTLESS    INCONSTANT.     I2() 

He  needs  must  wander,  that  hath  lost  his  way  J^^ 

Guiltless  I  am ;  she  doth  this  change  provoke, 

And  made  that  charcoal,  which  to  her  was  oak, 

And  as  a  looking-glass  from  the  aspect 

Whilst  it  is  whole,  doth  but  one  face  reflect ; 

But  being  crack'd  or  broken,  there  are  grown 

Many  less  faces,  where  there  was  but  one : 

So  love  unto  my  heart  did  first  prefer  ^ 

Her  image,  and  there  placed  none  but  her ; 

But  since   't  was  broke  and   martyr'd   by   her 

scorn, 
"Many  less  faces  in  her  place  are  born. 


w 


FAREWELL  TO  LOVE. 

ELL-shadow'd  landscape,  fare  ye  well : 
How  I  have  lo\red  you,  none  can  tell, 
At  least  so  well 
As  he  that  now  hates  more 
Than  e'er  he  lov'd  before. 

But,  my  dear  nothings,  take  your  leave, 

No  longer  must  you  me  deceive, 
Since  I  perceive 
All  the  deceit,  and  know 
Whence  the  mistake  did  grow. 

As  he,  whose  quicker  eye  doth  trace 
A  false  star  shot  to  a  mark'd  place, 
Does  run  apace, 


FAREWELL     TO    LOVE.  131 

And  thinking  it  to  catch, 
A  jelly  up  does  snatch 

So  our  dull  souls  tasting  delight  V. 

Far  off,  by  sense  and  appetite 
Think  that  is  right 

And  real  good  ;  when  yet 

'Tis  but  the  counterfeit. 

O,  how  I  glory  now,  that  I 
Have  made  this  new  discovery! 
Each  wanton  eye 

Inflamed  before:  no  more 

Will  I  increase  that  score. 

If  I  gaze  now,  'tis  but  to  see 
What  manner  of  death's-head  'twill  be. 
When  it  is  free 

From  that  fresh  upper  skin. 

The  gazer's  joy  and  sin. 


132  FAREWELL     TO    LOVE. 

The  gum  and  glist'ning  which  with  art 
And  studied  method  in  each  part 
Kangs  down  the  heart, 
Looks  (just)  as  if  that  day 
Snails  there  had  crawl' d  the  hay. 

The  locks,  that  curl'd  o'er  each  ear  be. 
Hang  like  two  master-worms  to  me. 
That,  as  we  see. 
Have  tasted  to  the  rest 
Two  holes,  where  they  lik'd  best. 

A  quick  corse,  me-thinks,  I  spy- 
In  every  woman  ;  and  mine  eye, 
At  passing  by, 

Checks,  and  is  troubled,  just 

As  if  it  rose  from  dust. 

They  mortify,  not  heighten  me  : 
These  of  ray  sins  the  glasses  be : 


FAKE  WELL     TO    LOVE.  133 

And  here  I  see, 
How  I  have  lov'd  before, 
And  so  I  love  no  more. 


CHANSONS  BACHIQUES 


CHANSONS    BACHIQUES, 


I. 


A  hall,  a  hall 
To  welcome  our  friend  : 
For  some  liquor  call, 
A  new  or  fresh  face 
Must  not  alter  our  pace, 

But  make  us  still  drink  the  quicker 
Wine,  wine,  O,  'tis  divine 

Come,  fill  it  unto  our  brother : 
What's  at  the  tongue's  end. 


138  CHANSONS    BACHIQUES. 

It  forth  does  send, 
And  will  not  a  syllable  smother. 

Then 
It  unlocks  the  breast. 
And  throws  out  the  rest, 

And  learns  us  to  know  each  other. 
Wine !    wine ! 


II. 


Come,  let  the  State  stay. 

And  drink  away : 
There  is  no  business  above  it : 

It  warms  the  cold  brain. 

Makes  us  speak  in  high  strain ; 
He's  a  fool  that  does  not  approve  it. 

The  Macedon  youth 

Left  behind  him  this  truth. 
That  nothing  is  done  with  much  thinking ; 
He  drank  and  he  fought, 


CHAiVSOXS    BACHIQUES.  139 

Till  he  had  what  he  sought, 
The  world  was  his  own  by  good  drinking. 

III. 

She's  pretty  to  walk  with. 

And  witty  to  talk  with, 
And  pleasant  too  to  think  on : 

But  the  best  use  of  all 

Is,  her  health  is  a  stale 
And  helps  us  to  make  us  drink  on. 


IV. 


That  box,  fair  mistress,  which  thou  gav'st  to  me, 
In  human  guess  is  like  to  cost  me  three, 
Three  cups  of  wine  and  verses  six, 
The  v/ine  will  down,  but  verse  for  rhyme  still 

sticks. 
By  which  you  all  may  easily,  gentles,  know, 
I  am  a  better  drinker  than  a  Po — 


I40  CHANSONS    BACHIQUES. 


V. 


A  CATCH. 

Fill  it  up,  fill  it  up  to  the  brink. 
When  the  pots  cry  clink, 
And  the  pockets  chink, 
Then  'tis  a  merry  world. 

To  the  best,  to  the  best,  have  at  her. 
And  a  pox  take  the  woman-hater : — 
The  Prince  of  Darkness  is  a  gentleman 
Mahu,  Mahu  is  his  name. 


VI. 


"  Some  candles  here ! 

And  fill  us  t'other  quart,  and  fill  us. 

Rogue,  drawer,  t'other  quart. 

Some  small-beer. 

And  for  the  blue, 

Give  him  a  cup  of  sack,  'twill  mend  his  hue." 


CHANSONS    BACHIQUES.  141 

VII. 

Come,  come  away,  to  the  tavern,  I  say, 
For  now  at  home  is  washing-day ; 
Leave  your  prittle-prattle,  let's  have  a  pottle, 
We  are  not  so  wise  as  Aristotle. 


FRAGMENTS  FROM  THE 
DRAMAS 


FRAGMENTS     FROM     THE     DRAMAS. 


This  moiety  war. 

Twilight, 
Neither  night  nor  day  : 

Pox  upon  it ! 
A  storm  is  worth  a  thousand 

Of  your  calm  ; 
There's  more  variety  in  it. 

II. 

Bring  them,  bring  them,  bring  them  in, 
See,  if  they  have  mortal  sin  : 
Pinch  them  as  you  dance  about, 
Pinch  them,  till  the  truth  come  out. 


146  FRAGMENTS  FROM  THE  DRAMAS. 

III. 

Welcome,  welcome,  mortal  wight. 
To  the  mansion  of  the  night. 
Good  or  bad,  thy  life  discover ; 

Truly  all  thy  deeds  declare; 
For  about  thee  spirits  hover, 

That  can  tell,  tell  what  they  are. 
Pinch  him,  if  he  speaks  not  true  ; 
Pinch  him,  pinch  him  black  and  blue. 

O,  what  a  day  was  here  !    Gently  my  joys  distil. 
Lest  you  should  break  the  vessel  you  should  fill. 


SONNETS 


SONNETS. 


I. 


T~^OST  see  how  unregarded  now 
-*-^      That  piece  of  beauty  passes  ? 
There  was  a  time  when  I  did  vov/ 
To  that  alone  ; 
But  mark  the  fate  of  faces ; 
The  red  and  white  works  now  no  more  on  me. 
Than  if  it  could  not  charm,  or  1  not  see. 

And  yet  the  face  continues  good, 
And  I  have  still  desires, 
And  still  the  self-same  flesh  and  blood, 
As  apt  to  melt, 


I50  SOA^NETS. 


And  suffer  from  those  fires ; 
D,  some  kind  power  unriddle  where  it  lies  : 
Whether  my  heart  be  faulty,  or  her  eyes  ? 

She  every  day  her  man  does  kill, 

And  I  as  often  die  ; 
Neither  her  power  then  nor  my  will 
Can  question'd  be ; 

What  is  the  mystery  ? 
Sure  beauty's  empires,  like  to  greater  states. 
Have  certain  periods  set,  and  hidden  fates.  . 

II. 

OF  thee,  kind  boy,  I  ask  no  red  and  white, 
To  make  up  my  delight : 
No  odd  becoming  graces, 
Black  eyes,  or  little  know-not-whats  in  faces  ; 
Make  me  but  mad  enough,  give  me  good  store 
Of  love  for  her  I  court ; 

I  ask  no  more, 
'Tis  love  in  love  that  makes  the  sport. 


SONXETS.  151 

There's  no  such  thing  as  that  we  beauty  call, 
It  is  mere  cozenage  all ; 
For  though  some  long  ago 

Lik'd  certain  colours,  mingled  so  and  so, 

That  doth  not  tie  me  now  from  choosing  new  : 

If  I  a  fancy  take 

To  black  and  blue 

That  fancy  doth  it  beauty  make. 

'Tis  not  the  meat,  but  'tis  the  appetite 
Makes  eating  a  delight, 
And  if  I  like  one  dish 

More  than  another,  that  a  pheasant  is : 

What  in  our  watches,  that  in  us  is  found  ; 

So  to  the  height  and  nick 

We  up  be  wound, 

No  matter  by  what  hand  or  trick. 


III. 


o 


,  FOR  some  honest  lover's  ghost. 
Some  kind  unbodied  post 


152  SOATA'ETS. 


Sent  from  the  shades  below ! 

I  strangely  long  to  know, 
Whether  the  nobler  chaplets  wear, 
Those  that  their  mistress'  scorn  did  bear. 

Or  those  that  were  us'd  kindly. 

For  whatsoe'er  they  tell  us  here 

To  make  those  sufferings  dear, 
'Twill  there,  I  fear,  be  found, 
That  to  the  being  crown'd 

T'  have  loved  alone  will  not  suffice, 

Unless  we  also  have  been  wise. 

And  have  our  loves  enjoyed. 

What  posture  can  we  think  him  in, 
That  here  unloved  again 
Departs,  and's  thither  gone, 
Where  each  sits  by  his  own  ? 
Or  how  can  that  Elysium  be, 
Where  I  my  mistress  still  must  see 
Circled  in  others'  arms  ? 


SOXXETS.  T53 

For  there  the  judges  all  are  just. 

And  Sophonisba  must 

Be  his  whom  she  held  dear. 

Not  his  who  loved  her  here. 

The  sweet  Philoclea,  since  she  died. 

Lies  by  her  Pirocles  his  side, 

Not  by  Amphialus. 

Some  bays,  perchance,  or  myrtle  bough. 

For  diflference  crowns  the  brow 
Of  those  kind  souls  that  were 
The  noble  martyrs  here  ; 

And  if  that  be  the  only  odds, 

(As  who  can  tell  ?)  ye  kinder  gods. 

Give  me  the  v.'oman  here. 


TRANSLATIONS 


DESDAIN. 

AQUOY  servent  d'artifices 
Et  serments  aux  vent  jettez, 
Si  vos  amours  et  vos  sen'ices 
Me  sont  des  importunitez  ? 

L'amour  a  d'autres  voeux  m'appelle  ; 

Entendez  jamais  rien  de  moy, 
Ne  pensez  nous  rendre  infidele, 

A  me  tesmoignant  vostre  foy. 

L'amant  qui  mon  amour  possede 
Est  trop  plein  de  perfection, 

Et  doublement  il  vons  excede 
De  merit  et  d'affection. 


158  DESDAIN. 

Je  ne  puis  estre  refroidie, 
Ni  rompre  un  cordage  si  doux, 

Ni  le  rompre  sans  perfidie, 
Ni  d'estre  perfidi  pour  vous. 

Vos  attentes  sont  toutes  en  vain, 
Le  vous  dire  est  vous  obliger, 

Pour  vous  faire  epergner  vos  peines 
Du  vous  et  du  temps  mesnager. 

Englished  thus  by  Sir  John  Suckling. 

"  I  ^O  what  end  serve  the  promises 
-■-       And  oaths  lost  in  the  air, 

Since  all  your  proffer'd  services 
To  me  but  tortures  are  ? 

Another  now  enjoys  my  love, 
Set  you  your  heart  at  rest : 

Think  not  me  from  my  faith  to  movq, 
Because  you  faith  protest. 


DESDAIN.  I5Q 


The  man  that  does  possess  my  heart, 
Has  twice  as  much  perfection, 

And  does  excel  you  in  desert, 
As  much  as  in  affection. 

I  cannot  break  so  sweet  a  bond, 

Unless  I  prove  untrue  : 
Nor  can  I  ever  be  so  fond, 

To  prove  untrue  for  you. 

Your  attempts  are  but  in  vain 

(To  tell  you  is  a  favour) : 
For  things  that,  may  be,  rack  your  brain 

Then  lose  not  thus  your  labour. 


Ei  uev  7/v  tiaOeiv 
'A  6d  iraOeiv, 
Kat  fuj  naOelv, 
KaTidv  7/v  rd  fiaOeiv. 
Et  6e  Set  iraOtiv 
'A  del  /naQelVf 
Tf  (H  fiaOdv ; 
Xp?)  yup  TraOeiv. 


Scire  si  liceret  quae  debes  subire, 
Et  non  subire,  pulchrum  est  scire : 
Scd  si  subire  debes  quce  debes  scire  : 
yuorsum  \  is  scire;    nam  debes  subire? 


I 


TRANSLA  TIONS.  1 6 1 


Englished  thus — 


F  man  might  know 


The  ill  he  must  undergo, 
And  shun  it  so, 

Then  it  were  good  to  know  : 
But  if  he  undergo  it. 

Though  he  know  it, 
What  boots  him  know  it  ? 

He  must  undergo  it. 


MISCELLANIES 


HIS  DREAM. 

ON  a  still,  silent  night,  scarce  could  I  num- 
ber 
One  of  the  clock,  but  that  a  golden  slumber 
Had  locked  my  senses  fast,  and  carried  me 
Into  a  world  of  blest  felicity, 
I  know  not  how :  first  to  a  garden,  where 
The  apricot,  the  cherry,  and  the  pear, 
The  strawberry  and  plum,  were  fairer  far 
Than  that  eye-pleasing  fruit  that  caused  the  jar 
Betwixt  the  goddesses,  and  tempted  more 
Than  fair  Atlanta's  ball,  though  gilded  o'er. 
I  gazed  awhile  on  these,  and  presently 
A  silver  stream  ran  softly  gliding  by, 
Upon  whose  banks,  lilies  more  white  than  snow, 


1 66  HIS  DREAM. 


New-fallen  from  heaven,  with  violets  mixed,  did 

grow; 
Whose  scent  so  chafed  the  neighbour-air,  that 

you 
Would  softly  swear  that  Arabic  spices  grew 
Not  far  from  thence,  or  that  the  place  had  been 
With  musk  prepar'd,  to  entertain  Love's  queen. 
Whilst  I  admired,  the  river  passed  away, 
And  up  a  grove  did  spring,  green  as  in  May 
When    April    had    been   moist ;    upon    whose 

bushes 
The  pretty  robins,  nightingales  and  thrushes. 
Warbled  their  notes  so  sweetly,  that  my  ears 
Did  judge  at  least  the  music  of  the  spheres. 


AN  ANSWER  TO    SOME   VERSES  MADE 
IN  HIS  PRAISE. 

npHE  ancient  poets  and  their  learned  rhymes 

We  still  admire  in  these  our  later  times. 
And  celebrate  their  fames.    Thus,  though  they 

die, 
Their  names  can  never  taste  mortality: 
Blind  Homer's  muse  and  Virgil's  stately  verse, 
While  any  live,  shall  never  need  a  hearse. 
Since  then  to  these  such  praise  was  justly  due 
For  what  they  did,  what  shall  be  said  to  you  ? 
These  had  their  helps  ;  they  wrote  of  gods  and 

kings, 
Of  temples,  battles,  and  of  such  gallant  things  : 
But  you  of  nothing  ;  how  could  you  have  v/rit, 


1 63  AN  ANSWER. 


Had  you  but  chose  a  subject  to  your  wit  ? 
To  praise  Achilles  or  the  Trojan  crew, 
Showed  little  art,  for  praise  was  but  their  due. 
To  say  she's  fair  that's  fair,  this  is  no  pains : 
He  shows  himself  most  poet,  that  most  feigns : 
To  find  out  virtues  strangely  hid  in  me; 
Ay,  there's  the  art  and  learned  poetry  ! 
To  make  one  striding  of  a  barbed  steed, 
Prancing  a  stately  round  :  I  use  indeed 
To  ride  Bat  Jewel's  jade  ;  this  is  the  skill. 
This  shows  the  poet  wants  not  wit  at  will. 
I  must  admire  aloof,  and  for  my  part 
Be  well  contented,  since  you  do  't  with  art. 


A  POETICAL  EPISTLE. 

WHETHER  these  lines  do  find  you  out, 
Putting  or  clearing  of  a  doubt ; 
Whether  predestination, 
Or  reconciling  three  in  one, 
Or  the  unriddling  how  men  die. 
And  live  at  once  eternally, 
Now  take  you  up — know  'tis  decreed 
You  straight  bestride  the  college  steed  : 
Leave  Socinus  and  the  schoolmen, 
Which  Jack  Bond  swears  do  but  fool  men, 
And  come  to  town ;  'tis  fit  you  show 
Yourself  abroad,  that  men  may  know 
Wliate'er  some  learned  men  have  guess'd 
That  oracles  are  not  yet  ceas'd  : 


70  A      POETICAL  EPISTLE. 

There  you  shall  find  the  wit  and  wine 
Flowing  alike,  and  both  divine : 
Dishes  with  names  not  known  in  books, 
And  less  amongst  the  college-cooks, 
With  sauce  so  pregnant  that  you  need 
Not  stay  till  hunger  bids  you  feed. 
The  sweat  of  learned  Johnson's  brain, 
And  gentle  Shakespeare's  easier  strain, 
A  hackney-coach  conveys  you  to, 
In  spite  of  all  that  rain  can  do : 
And  for  your  eighteenpence  you  sit 
The  lord  and  judge  of  all  fresh  wit. 
News  in  one  day  as  much  we  've  here, 
As  serves  all  Windsor  for  a  year, 
And  which  the  carrier  brings  to  you. 
After  't  has  here  been  found  not  true. 
Then  think  what  company  's  design'd 
To  meet  you  here,  men  so  refin'd  ; 
Their  very  common  talk  at  board. 
Makes  wise  or  mad  a  young  court-lord. 
And  makes  him  capable  to  be 


A  POETICAL  EPISTLE.  ni 


Umpire  in  's  father's  company. 
Where  no  disputes  nor  forc'd  defence 
Of  a  man's  person  for  his  sense 
Take  up  the  time ;  all  strive  to  be 
Masters  of  truth,  as  victory  : 
And  where  you  come,  I  'd  boldly  swear 
A  synod  might  as  easily  err. 


A  SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS. 

SESSION  was  held  the  other  day, 
And  Apollo  himself  was  at  it,  they  say; 
The  laurel  that  had  been  so  long  resen^'d. 
Was  now  to  be  given  to  him  best  deserv'd. 

And 
Therefore  the  wits  of  the  town  came  thither; 
'Twas  strange  to  see  how  they  flock'd  together; 
Each,  strongly  confident  of  his  own  way, 
Thought  to  gain  the  laurel  away  that  day. 

There  was  Selden,  and  he  sat  hard  by  the  chair; 
Weniman  not  far  off,  which  was  very  fair ; 
Sands  with  Townsend,  for  they  kept  no  order ; 
Digby  and  Shillingsworth  a  little  further. 


A  SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS.  173 

And 
There  was  Lucan's  translator,  too,  and  he 
That  makes  God  speak  so  big  in  's  poetry ; 
Selwin    and    Waller,    and     Bartlets    both    the 

brothers ; 
Jack  Vaughan  and  Porter,  and  divers  others. 


The  first  that  broke  silence  was  good  old  Ben, 
Prepar'd  before  with  Canary  wine. 
And  he  told  them  plainly  he  deserv'd  the  bays, 
For  his  werecall'd  works,  where  others  were  but 

plays. 

And 
Bade  them  remember  how  he  had   purg'd  the 

stage 
Of  errors,  that  had  lasted  many  an  age; 
And  he  hoped  they  did  not  think  the  "  Silent 

Woman," 
The  "  Fox,"  and  the  "  Alchemist,"  out-done  by 

no  man. 


174         A  SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS. 

Apollo  stopped  him  there,  and  bade  him  not  go 

on, 
'Twas  merit,  he  said,  and  not  presumption, 
Must  carry  't ;  at  which  Ben  turned  about, 
And  in  great  choler  oHer'd  to  go  out. 

But 
Those  that  were  there  thought  it  not  fit 
To  discontent  so  ancient  a  wit ; 
And  therefore  Apollo  called  him  back  again. 
And  made  him  mine  host  of  his  own  New  Inn. 


Tom  Carew  was  next,  but  he  had  a  fault 
That  would  not  well  stand  with  a  laureate ; 
His  muse  was  hard-bound,  and  th'  issue  of  's 

brain 
Was  seldom  brought  forth  but  with  trouble  and 

pain. 

And 
All  that  were  present  there  did  agree, 
A  laureate  muse  should  be  easy  and  free. 


A  SESSIONS  OF  2'HE  POETS.  175 

Yet  sure  'twas  not  that,  but  'twas  thought  that, 

his  grace 
Considered,  he  was  well  he  had  a  cup-bearer's 

place. 

Will.  Davenant,  asham'd  of  a  foolish  mischance, 
That  he  had  got  lately  travelling  in  France, 
Modestly  hoped  the  handsomeness  of  's  muse 
Might  any  deformity  about  him  excuse. 

And 
Surely  the  company  would  have  been  content. 
If  they  could  have  found  any  precedent ; 
But  in  all  their  records,  either  in  verse  or  prose 
There  was  not  one  laureate  without  a  nose. 

To  Will.  Bartlet  sure  all  the  wits  meant  well, 
But  first  they  would  see  how  his  snow  would 

sell : 
Will,  smil'd  and  swore  in  their  judgments  they 

went  less, 
That  concluded  of  merit  upon  success. 


176         A  SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS. 

Suddenly  taking  his  place  again, 

He  gave  way  to  Selwin,  who  straight  stepped 

in; 
But,  alas !  he  had  been  so  lately  a  wit, 
That  Apollo  hardly  knew  him  yet. 

Toby  Matthews,  (pox  on  him !)  how  came  he 

there  ? 
Was  whispering  nothing  in  somebody's  ear ; 
When  he  had  the  honour  to  be  named  in  court. 
But,  sir,  you  may  thank  my  Lady  Carlisle  for  't : 

For  had  not  her  care  furnish'd  you  out 
With  something  of  handsome,  without  all  doubt 
You  and  your  sorry  Lady  Muse  had  been 
In  the  number  of  those  that  were  not  let  in. 

In  haste  from  the  court  two  or  three  came  in, 
And   they  brought  letters,  forsooth,  from   the 
Queen ; 


A   SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS.         177 

'Twas  discreetly  done,  too,  for  if  th'  had  come 
Without  them,  th'  had  scarce  been  let  into  the 
room. 

Suckling  next  was  called,  but  did  not  appear ; 
But  straight  one  whispered  Apollo  i'  th'  car, 
That  of  all  men  living  he  cared  not  for  't, 
He  loved  not  the  Muses  so  well  as  his  sport ; 

And  prized  black  eyes,  or  a  lucky  hit 
At  bowls,  above  all  the  trophies  of  wit ; 
But  Apollo  was  angry,  and  publicly  said, 
'Twere  fit  that  a  fine  were  set  upon  's  head. 

Wat  Montague  now  stood  forth  to  his  trial. 
And  did  not  so  much  as  suspect  a  denial ; 
But  witty  Apollo  asked  him  first  of  all. 
If  he  understood  his  own  pastoral. 

For,  if  he  could  do  it,  'twould  plainly  appear. 
He  understood  more  than  any  man  there. 


173         A   SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS. 

And  did  merit  the  bays  above  all  the  rest ; 
But  Monsieur  was  modest,  and  silence  confessed. 

During  these  troubles,  in  the  crowd  was  hid 

One  that  Apollo  soon  missed,  little  Cid ; 

And  having  spied  him  call'd  him   out  of  the 

throng, 
And   advis'd   him   in   his  ear   not  to  write  so 

strong. 

Then  Murray  was  summon'd,  but  'twas  urg'd 

that  he 
Was  chief  already  of  another  company. 

Hales  set  by  himself  most  gravely  did  smile 
To  see  them  about  nothing  keep  such  a  coil : 
Apollo  had  spied  him,  but  knowing  his  mind 
Passed  by,  and   call'd   Falkland  that  sat  just 
behind : 

But 
He  was  of  late  so  gone  with  divinity, 


A   SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS.         179 

That  he  had  almost  forgot  his  poetry; 
Though  to  say  the  truth,  and  Apollo  did  know 

it, 
He  might  have  been  both  his  priest  and  his  poet. 

At  length  who  but  an  Alderman  did  appear, 
At  which  Will.  Davenant  began  to  swear  ; 
But  wiser  Apollo  bade  him  draw  nigher, 
And  when  he  was  mounted  a  little  higher, 


Openly  declared  that  the  best  sign 

Of  good  store  of  wit  's  to  have  good  store  of 

coin  ; 
And,  without  a  syllable  more  or  less  said, 
He  put  the  laurel  on  the  Alderman's  head. 

At  this  all  the  wits  were  in  such  amaze 
That  for  a  good  while  they  did  nothing  but  gaze 
One  upon  another;  not  a  man  in  the  place 
But  had  discontent  writ  in  great  in  his  face. 


l8o        A  SESSIONS  OF  THE  POETS. 

Only  the  small  poets  cheer'd  up  again, 
Out  of  hope,  as  'tv/as  thought,  of  borrowing; 
But  sure  they  were  out,  for  he  forfeits  his  crown, 
When  he  lends  any  poets  about  the  town. 


A  BARBER. 

I   AM  a  barber  and,  I'd  have  you  know, 
A   shaver    too,  sometimes    no    mad    one 
though : 
The  reason  why  you  see  me  now  thus  bare, 
is  'cause  I  always  trade  against  the  hair. 
But  yet  I  keep  a  state ;  who  comes  to  me, 
Whosoe'er  he  is,  he  must  uncover'd  be. 
When  I'm  at  work,  I'm  bound  to  find  discourse, 
To  no  great  purpose,  of  great  Sweden's  force, 
Of  Witel,  and  the  Bourse,  and  what  'twill  cost 
To  get  that  back  which  was  this  summer  lost. 
So  fall  to  praising  of  his  Lordship's  hair ; 
Ne'er  so  deform'd,  I  swear  'tis  sa7ts  compare. 
I  tell  him  that  the  King's  doth  sit  no  fuller, 


1 82  A   BARBER. 


And  yet  his  is  not  half  so  good  a  colour ; 
Then  reach  a  pleasing  glass,  that's  made  to  lie, 
Like  to  its  master,  most  notoriously ; 
And  if  he  must  his  mistress  see  that  day, 
I  with  a  powder  send  him  straight  away.} 


A  PEDLAR  OF  SMALLWARES. 

A   PEDLAR  I  am,  that  take  great  care 
And  mickle  pains  for  to  sell  smallware: 
I  had  need  do  so,  when  women  do  buy, 
That  in  smallwares  trade  so  unwillingly. 

L.  W. 

A  looking-glass,  wilt  please  you,  madam,  buy  ? 
A  rare  one  'tis  indeed,  for  in  it  I 
Can  show  what  all  the  world  besides  can't  do, 
A  face  like  to  your  own,  so  fair,  so  true. 

L.   E. 

For  you  a  girdle,  madam  ;  but  I  doubt  me 
Nature  hath  order'd  there  's  no  waist  about  ye ; 


1 84       A    PEDLAR   OF  SMALLWARES. 

Pray,  therefore,  be  but  pleas'd  to  search  my  pack, 
There  's  no  ware  that  I  have  that  you  shall  lack 

L.  B.,    L.  A. 

As  for  you,  ladies,  there  are  those  behind 
Whose  v/are  perchance  may  better  take  your 

mind : 
One  cannot  please  ye  all ;  the  pedlar  will  draw 

back, 
And  wish  against  himself,  that  you   may  have 

the  knack. 


PROLOGUES 

AND 
EPILOGUES 


A    PROLOGUE    TO    A    MASQUE    AT 
WITTEN. 

EXPECT  not  here  a  curious  river  tine. 
Our  wits  are  short  of  that :  alas  the  time ! 
rhe  neat  refined  language  of  the  court 
iVe  know  not;  if  we  did,  our  country  sport 
^ust  not  be  too  ambitious  ;  'tis  for  kings, 
'^ot  for  their  subjects,  to  have  such  rare  things. 
Besides  though,  I  confess,  Parnassus  hardly, 
fet  Helicon  this  summer-time  is  dry : 
Dur  wits  were  at  an  ebb  or  very  low, 
\nd,  to  say  troth,  I  think  they  cannot  fiow. 
But  yet  a  gracious  influence  from  you 
Vlay  alter  nature  in  our  brow-sick  crew, 
^ave  patience  then,  we  pray,  and  sit  a  while 
A.nd,  if  a  laugh  be  too  much,  lend  a  smile, 


PROLOGUE  TO  AGLAURA. 

I'VE  thought  upon  't ;  and  cannot  tell  which 
way 
Aught  I  can  say  now  should  advance  the  play  ; 
For  plays  are  either  good  or  bad  :  the  good, 
If  they  do  beg,  beg  to  be  understood  ; 
And,  in  good  faith,  that  has  as  bold  a  sound, 
As  if  a  beggar  should  ask  twenty  pound. 
Men  have  it  not  about  them  : 
Then,  gentlemen,  if  rightly  understood, 
The  bad  do  need  less  prologue  than  the  good ; 
For,  if  it  chance  the  plot  be  lame  or  blind, 
Ill-cloth'd,  deform'd  throughout,  it  needs  must 

find 
Compassion.     It  is  a  beggar  without  art, 


PROLOGUE   TO  AG  LAURA,  iSg 

But  it  falls  out  in  pennyworths  of  wit, 

As  in  all  bargains  else — men  ever  get 

All  they  can  in  ;  will  have  London  measure, 

A  handful  over  in  their  very  pleasure. 

And  now  ye  have  't,  he  could  not  well  deny  ye. 

And  I  dare  swear  he  's  scarce  a  saver  by  ye. 


PROLOGUE  FOR  THE  COURT. 

{Aglaura.) 

THOSE  common  passions,  hopes  and  fears, 
that  still, 
The  poets  first,  and  then  the  prologues  fill. 
In  this  our  age  :  he  that  writ  this,  by  me 
Protests  against  as  modest  foolery. 
He  thinks  it  an  odd  thing  to  be  in  pain 
For  nothing  else,  but  to  be  well  again. 
Who  writes  to  fear  is  so  :  had  he  not  writ, 
You  ne'er  had  been  the  judges  of  his  wit ; 
And  when  he  had,  did  he  but  then  intend 
To  please  himself,  he  sure  might  have  his  end 
Without  th'  expense  of  hope  ;  and  that  he  had 
That  made  this  play,  although  the  play  be  bad. 


rROLOGUE  FOR    THE  COURT. 

Then,  gentlemen,  be  thrifty,  save  your  dooms 
For  the  next  man  or  the  next  play  that  comes ; 
For  smiles  are  nothing  where  men  do  not  care. 
And  frowns  as  little  they  need  not  fear. 


TO  THE   KING. 

{Aglaura^ 

THIS  Sir,  to  them,  but  unto  Majesty- 
All  he  has  said  before  he  does  deny. 
Yet  not  to  Majesty — that  were  to  bring 
His  fears  to  be  but  for  the  Queen  and  King, 
Not  for  yourselves ;  and  that  he  dares  not  say- 
You  are  his  sovereigns  another  way. 
Your  souls  are  princes,  and  you  have  as  good 
A  title  that  way,  as  ye  have  by  blood. 
To  govern  ;  and  here  your  power's  more  great 
And  absolute  than  in  the  royal  seat. 
There  men  dispute,  and  but  by  law  obey, 
Here  is  no  law  at  all,  but  what  ye  say. 


EPILOGUE   TO   AGLAURA. 

UR   play   is   done,   and   yours   doth   now 
begin  : 

What  different  fancies  people  now  are  in 
How  strange  and  odd  a  mingle  it  would  make, 
If,  ere  they  rise,  'twere  possible  to  take 
All  votes — 

But  as  when  an  authentic  watch  is  shown, 
Each  man  v/inds  up  and  rectifies  his  ov/n. 
So  in  our  very  judgments  ;  first  there  sits 
A  grave  grand  jury  on  it  of  town-wits. 
And  they  give  up  their  verdict ;  then  again 
The  other  jury  of  the  court  comes  in 
(And   that's  of  life  and  death),  for  each  man 

sees. 
That  oft  condemns,  what  th'  other  juiy  frees. 


194  EPILOGUE   TO  AG  LAURA. 

Some  three  days  hence,  the  ladies  of  the  town 
Will  come  to  have  a  judgment  of  their  own. 
And  after  them,  their  servants  ;  then  the  city, 
For  that  is  modest,  and  is  still  last  witty. 
'Twill  be  a  week  at  least  yet,  ere  they  have 
Resolv'd  to  let  it  live,  or  give  't  a  grave. 
Such  difficulty  there  is  to  unite 
Opinion,  or  bring  it  to  be  right. 


EPILOGUE   FOR   THE   COURT. 

(Aglaura.) 

Sir, 

THAT  the  abusing  of  your  ear  's  a  crime, 
Above  th'  excuse  any  six  lines  in  rhyme 
Can  make,  the  poet  knows  :  I  am  but  sent 
T'  intreat  he  may  not  be  a  president, 
For  he  does  think,  that  in  this  place  there  be 
Many  have  done  't  as  much  and  more  than  he. 
But  here  's,  he  says,  the  difference  of  the  fates. 
He  begs  a  pardon  after  't,  they,  estates. 


PROLOGUE  TO  AGLAURA,  PRESENTED 

AT  THE  COURT. 

'T^ORE  love,  a  mighty  sessions!  and,  I  fear, 
-a-        Though   kind   last   'sizes,  'twill  be  now 

severe ; 
For  it  is  thought,  and  by  judicious  men, 
Aglaura  'scap'd  only  by  dying  then. 
But  'twould  be  vain  for  me  now  to  endear. 
Or  speak  unto  my  Lords,  the  Judges  here ; 
They  hold  their  places  by  condemning  still, 
And  cannot  show  at  once  mercy  and  skill ; 
For  wit  's  so  cruel  unto  wit,  that  they 
Are  thought  to  want,  that  find  not  want  i'  th' 

play. 
But,  ladies,  you  who  never  lik'd  a  plot, 


PROLOGUE   TO  AG  LAURA.  197 

But  where  the  servant  had  his  mistress  got, 
And  whom  to  see  a  lover  die  it  grieves, 
Although  'tis  in  worse  language  that  he  lives, 
Will  like  't,  we  're  confident,  since  here  will  be, 
That  your  sex  ever  lik'd — variety ! 


PROLOGUE  FOR  THE  COURT. 

{Aglaura,  presented  at  the  Court.) 

"T"^IS  strange,  perchance  you  '11  think,  that 

-^  she  that  died 

At  Christmas,  should  at  Easter  be  a  bride : 
But  'tis  a  privilege  the  poets  have, 
To  take  the  long-since  dead  out  of  the  grave. 
Nor  is  this  all ;  old  heroes  asleep 
'Twixt  marble  coverlids,  and  six  feet  deep 
In  earth,  they  boldly  v/ake,  and  make  them  (S.K) 
All  they  did  living  here  :  sometimes  more  too. 
They  give  fresh  life,  reverse  and  alter  fate, 
And,  yet  more  bold.  Almighty-like  create, 
And  out  of  nothing,  only  to  defy 
Reason  and  Reason's  friend,  Philosophy ; 
Fame,  honour,  valour :  all  that  *s  great  or  good, 


PROLOGUE  FOR   THE  COURT.         199 

Or  is  at  least  'mongst  us  so  understood — 
They    give ;    heav'n   's    theirs ;    no    handsome 

woman  dies, 
But,  if  they  please,  is  straight  some  star  i'  th' 

skies. 
But  O,  how  those  poor  men  of  metre  do 
Flatter  themselves  with  that  that  is  not  true ! 
And  'cause  they  can  trim  up  a  little  prose. 
And  spoil  it  handsomely,  vainly  suppose 
They  're  omnipotent,  can  do  all  those  things 
That  can  be  done  only  by  gods  and  kings  ! 
Of  this  wild  guilt  he  fain  would  be  thought  free 
That  writ  this  play,  and  therefore,  sir,  by  me 
He  humbly  begs  you  would  be  pleas'd  to  know, 
Aglaura  's  but  repriev'd  this  night ;  and  though 
She  now  appears  upon  a  poet's  call, 
She  's  not  to  live,  unless  you  say  say  she  shall. 


EPILOGUE. 

{Aglaura,  prese7tted  at  the  Courts 

PLAYS  are  like  feasts,  and  every  act  should 
be 
Another  course,  and  still  variety : 
But,  in  good  faith,  provision  of  wit 
Is  grown  of  late  so  difficult  to  get 
That,  do  we  what  we  can,  we  are  not  able 
Without  cold  meats  to  furnish  out  the  table. 
Who  knows  but  it  was  needless  too  ?  maybe, 
'Twas  here,  as  in  the  coachman's  trade  ;  and  he 
That  turns  in  the  least  compass  shows  most  art, 
Howe'er,  the  poet  hopes,  sir,  for  his  part, 
You'll  like  not  those  so  much  who  show  their 

skill 
In  entertainment,  as  who  show  their  will. 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  GOBLINS. 

WIT  in  a  prologue  poets  justly  may 
Style  a  new  imposition  on  a  play. 
When  Shakespeare,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  rul'd 

the  stage. 
There  scarce  were  ten  good  palates  in  the  age ; 
More  curious  cooks  than  guests ;  for  men  would 

eat 
Most  heartily  of  any  kind  of  meat. 
And  then  what  strange  variety]  each  play 
A  feast  for  epicures,  and  that  each  day ! 
But  mark,  how  oddly  it  is  come  about, 
And  how  unluckily  it  now  falls  out ; 
The  plates  are  grown  higher,  number  increas'd. 
And  there  wants  that  which  should   make  up 
the  feast ; 


202  PROLOGUE  TO   THE  GOBLINS. 

And  yet  you're  so  unconscionable,  you'd  have 
Forsooth  of  late,  that  which  they  never  gave  ; 

Banquets  before  and  after, 

Now  pox  on  him  that  first  good  prologue  writ, 
He  left  a  kind  of  r^it-charge  upon  v/it ; 
Which  if  succeeding  poets  fail  to  pay, 
They  forfeit  all  their  v/orth ;   and  that's  their 

play: 
You've  ladies*   humours,  and  you're  grown   to 

that, 
You  will  not  like  the  man,  'less  boots  and  hat 
Be  right ;  no  play,  unless  the  prologue  be 
And  epilogue  writ  to  curiosity. 
Well,  gentles,  'tis  the  grievance  of  the  place. 
And  pray  consider  't,  for  here  's  just  the  case ; 
The  richness  of  the  ground  is  gone  and  spent. 
Men's  brains  grow  barren,  and  you   raise  the 

rent. 


EPILOGUE   TO   THE   GOBLINS. 

AND  how, and  how? — in  faith  a  pretty  plot ; 
And  smartly  carried  through,  too,  v/as  it 
not? 
And  the  devils,  how?  well; — and  the  fighting? 

Well  too ; a  fool,  and  't  had   been   just  old 

writing. 
O,  what  a  monster-wit  must  that  man  have. 
That  could  please  all  w^hich  now  their  twelve- 
pence  gave ! 
High  characters,  cries  one,  and  he  would  see 
Things  that  ne'er  were,  nor  are,  nor  e'er  will  be. 
Romance,  cry  easy  souls  ;  and  then  they  swear 
The  play  's  well-writ,  though  scarce  a  good  line 
's  there. 


204        EPILOGUE   TO    THE  GOBLINS. 

The  women — O,  if  Stephen  should  be  kill'd  ! 
Or  miss  the  lady,  how  the  plot  is  spill'd ! 
And  into  how  many  pieces  a  poor  play 
Is  taken  still  before  the  second  day  ! 
Like  a  strange  beauty  newly  come  to  court ; 
And  to  say  truth,  good  faith,  'tis  all  the  sport. 
One  will  like  all  the  ill  things  in  a  play, 
Another  some  o'  th'  good,  but  the  wrong  way ; 
So  that  from  one  poor  play  there  comes  to  rise 
At  several  tables  several  comedies. 
The  ill  is  only  here,  that  't  may  fall  out 
In  plays  as  faces  ;  and  who  goes  about 
To  take  asunder,  oft  destroys  (we  know) 
What  all  together  made  a  pretty  show. 


NOTES 


NOTES 

Song.— Page  3. 
This  is  sung  by  young  Orsames  in  Aglaura  (Act  IV., 
Scene  I.).  Francis  Turner  Palgrave,  who  has  included 
this  ever-living  song  in  his  admirable  "  Golden  Treasury 
of  the  Best  Songs  and  Lyrical  Poems  in  the  English 
Language,"  has  given  it  with  the  heading  "  Encourage- 
ments to  a  Lover.''  Orsames  calls  it  "  a  little  foolish 
counsel,  1  gave  a  friend  of  mine  four  or  five  years  ago, 
when  he  was  falling  into  a  consumption." 

"For  thoWsi  a  thief  in  either  eyey — PAGE  5. 
Thou'st  is  given  th'  hast  in  some  of  the  editions.  The 
former  is  smoother  and  the  meaning  is  unmistakeabie. 

A  Song  to  a  Lute.— Page  7. 
Sung  to  Florelio  by  a  boy  in  The  Sad  One  (Act  IV., 
Scene  III.). 

"  /  never  make  it  hers  by  stealthP — Page  12. 
Suckling  refers  here  and  in  A  Ballad  upon  a  Wedding 
to  this  lover's  custom.  It  was,  of  course,  to  really 
drink  the  health  of  that  fair  one  "  nam.ed"  to  the  drinker 
by  himself  "by  stealth,"  while  ostensibly  drinking  to 
the  toast  of  the  company. 

Prince  Thersames's  Song.— Page  t8. 
Sung  to  Aglaura  by  "  A  Singing  Boy,"  {Aglaura, 
Act  IV.,  Scene  I.). 


2o8  NO  J  US. 


Song.— Page  20. 
These  verses  are  rich  with  excellent  figures. 

A  Ballad  upon  a  Wedding.— Page  31. 

The  version  of  this  famous  ballad,  v^^hich  has  created 
one  of  the  world's  "  familiar  quotations,"  is  the  same 
as  that  accepted  by  Mr.  Locker  in  his  delightful  Lyra 
Elegajitiaruni.  Mr.  Locker  is  a  critic  of  nice  judgment 
and  unquestionable  good  taste.  He  says  in  connection 
with  this  ballad  :  "  This  is  one  of  his  best  poems,  and 
as  Leigh  Hunt  says,  '  his  fancy  is  so  full  of  gusto  as  to 
border  on  imagination.'  Three  stanzas  of  the  poem 
have  been  necessarily  omitted."  In  reality  six  stanzas 
have  been  cut  from  the  poem  as  it  originally  stood. 

It  was  written  upon  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of 
Suckling's  friend,  Roger  Boyle  (Lord  Broghill  or 
Brohall,  afterwards  Earl  of  Orrery),  and  Lady  Mar- 
garet Howard,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Suffolk.  There 
are  evidences  that  it  was  set  to  music  which  was 
very  popular. 

John  Lawson  *  wrote  of  the  ballad  :  "  This  is  really 
excellent,  brisk,  humorous,  witty,  and  poetical." 


*  The  editor  is  indebted  to  the  Kerslake  edition  of  1874  for 
these  comments  by  Lawsoa  and  Wordsworth. 

The  editor  of  that  edition  derived  them  from  an  old  copy  of 
Suckling's  Works  "purporting  to  have  been  formerly  in  the 
possession  of  Wordsworth.  All  the  notes  written  by  the  poet 
himself  are  initialed  W.  IV.,  or  signed  in  full,  evidently  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  notes  in  two  other  hands,  those  of  George 
Chalmers  and  John  Lawson;  but  the  authenticity  of  this  MS. 
matter  has  (it  is  right  to  say)  been  called  in  question.  The 
handwriting  is  very  like  Wordsworth's,  which  varied  a  good 
deal  from  time  to  time;  but  it  certainly  was  thought  that,  at 


NOTES.  209 


Wordsworth  wrote  :  "  I  fully  concur  in  Mr.  Lawson's 
criticism,  but  wish  that  he  had  been  more  explicit.  *  *  * 
This  may  safely  be  pronounced  his  opus  niagmim  ; 
indeed  for  grace  and  simplicity  it  stands  unrivalled  in 
the  whole  compass  of  ancient  or  modern  poetry. " 

"  IV/u-rc  we  do  sell  our  hay.''' — PAGE  31. 
The  Haymarket  of  London  of  to-day 

"A  house  with  stairs.^' — Page  31. 
Said  to  be  Suffolk  House,  afterwards  Northumber- 
land House. 

"  The  maid,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale." — Page  33. 

Wordsworth  wrote  :  "His  portraits  of  female  beauty 
are  not  so  finished  as  those  of  Moore  and  Byron,  but 
they  possess  greater  attraction,  because  he  gives  only 
a  glimpse  and  leaves  the  rest  to  fancy." 

Upon  my  Lord  Broghill's  Wedding.— Page  37. 
This  was  occasioned  by  the  same  event  which  gave 
rise  to  the  preceding. 

"  To  hawks,  good  Jack,  and  hearts P — PAGE  39. 
In  the  edition  of  1874  this  line  has  "harts''  instead 
of  "  hearts.''  This  destroys  the  figure  ;  as  the  meaning 
is  that  some  hearts  must  first  be  tamed  as  falcons  are  ; 
and  then  these  hearts  will  seize  upon  the  quarry  when 
directed  to  it. 

Jack  Bond,  an  intimate  friend  of  Suckling's.  Little  is 
known  of  him. 


any  rate,  these  remarks,  whether  by  Wordsworth  or  not,  could 
nut  be  without  a  certain  value." 


2 1  o  AV  7'ES. 


To  A  Lady  that  fori'-ade  to  love  before  Com- 
pany.—Page  40. 
Cibber,  in  his  Liv^s  of  tfu  Pods,  deems  these  Suck- 
ling's best  lines.  The  Rev.  Alfred  Suckling  remarks, 
in  the  edition  of  1836,  "  I  can  not  coincide  with  him 
in  this  criticism." 

My  Lady  D.  E.— Page  42. 

Conjectured  by  Mr.  Hazlitt  to  be  Dorothy  Enion, 
who  married  Stanley  the  poet. 

"  May  no  ill  vapour  cloud  the  sk%\ 

Bold  siorms  itiradc  the  sorcrnpUyy — Page  49. 
\   Well  might  the  poet  wish  this  at  that  lime.      Within 
the  year  sat  the  *'  long  parliament." 

To  Lord  Lepington  upon  his  Translation  of  Mal- 
VEZZT.— Page  52. 
Lord  Lcpington's  translation  was  published  about 
1637. 

To  Will.  Davenant.— Page  55. 
Davenant's  Poems,  edition  163S,  contained  this  and 
the  preceding  as  prefatory  matter. 

Sir  John  Suckling's  Ans\ver.— Page  60. 

It  is  not  altogether  certain  that  these  are  Suckling's 
verses.  They  appeared  first  in  the  edition  of  1S74, 
whose  editor  found  them  In   MS.  Ashmole. 

They  are  in  reference  to  the  effective  verses  of  Sir 
]ohn  Mennis — effective  because  directed  broadly 
against  a  conspicuous  supporter  of  a  cause  obnoxious 
to  the  masses,  who  passed  the  ballad  noisily  from  lip 
to  lip.  It  had  little  merit,  and  in  this  respect  it  stood 
on  a  level  with  the  lines  given  here. 

"  Commend  uic  unto  l.ashlv  .^/out.*'  PAGE  61. 


NOTES.  211 


Las/ily—LesXy,  or  Leslie,  the  general  of  the  vic- 
torious Scots  at  Newburn. 

''  If  thou  be' St  ice,  I  do  adinireP  —Page  69. 
Admire — wonder. 

A  Supplement  of  an  imperfect  Copy  of 
Verses.— Page  70. 

The  reference  is  to  Shakespeare's  Liicrccc. 

The  first  four  lines  of  the  first  stanza  and  the  first 
three  of  the  second  paraphrase  Shakespeare's  lines  ; 
but  the  remaining  lines  of  the  poem  differ  widely  from 
those  of  Lucrece.  Suckling  has  here  attempted  what 
would  now  be  thought  a  most  ambitious  task  (and  he 
has  not  performed  it  badly) ;  but  ideas  concerning 
Shakespeare  were  then  widely  different  from  those 
now  prevailing. 

^'Fright  me  to  seek  tny  happinezs?" — Page  82. 
''Fright  meP    Edn.   1836  has  "Light  me."     The 
former  is  undoubtedly  correct.    "  Why  should  my  own 
unworthiness   frighten   me  from  seeking   my  happi- 
ness?'' 

"  Deserving  lose't,  unpiiied  it  la?Jient  H — Page  86. 
"  Deserving  lose' t?'    Some  editions  have  "deserving 
loos'd."    Our  reading  is  obviously  correct. 

Upon  two  Sisters.— Page  92. 
Line  6  of  this  poem  is  lacking  and  has  never  been 
satisfactorily  supplied. 

The  constant  Lover.— Page  106. 
Found  (by  "  A.  D.,"  conjectured  by  Mr.  Hazlitt  to 
be  Alexander  Dyce),  in  an  obscure  volume  of  verse  of 
the  time  of  Charles  L 


212  NOTES, 


A  Play  at  BARLEY-BiiEAK.— Page  126. 

Barley-break  was  a  game  very  popular  in  Suckling's 
time.  The  origin  of  its  designation  is  not  altogether 
certain.  It  may  have  been  derived  from  "  barla  bracks," 
meaning  "  about  the  stacks"  (of  grain)  ;  as  in  Scotland 
it  was  played  in  the  fields,  one  player  chasing  the  others 
about  the  stacks,  and  each,  when  caught,  assisting  to 
catch  the  rest.  Or,  it  may  come  from  "  barley*  and 
break,  i.  e.,  breaking  of  the  parley,  because  after  a  cer- 
tain time  allowed  for  settling  preliminaries,  on  a  cry 
being  given,  it  is  the  business  of  one  to  catch  as  many 
prisoners  as  he  can.'' 

In  England  the  game  v/as  participated  in  by  six 
people  at  a  time,  who  were  divided  into  three  couples, 
each  couple  being  formed  of  a  young  man  and  a  young 
woman.  Each  couple  had  its  goal,  the  central  goal 
being  called  "  hell,''  and  the  latter  was  apportioned  by 
lot  to  the  couple  who  were  to  "  catch  "  the  others,  if 
they  ventured  from  their  goals.  The  penalties  v/ere 
kisses. 

This  game  has  been  frequently  referred  to  by  Suck- 
ling's contemporaries  and  by  earlier  poets. 

''A  hall,.a  AallJ^— Page  157. 
Sung  by  Grainevert,  a  cavalier,  in    77ie  Tragedy  &/ 
Brennoralt  {KqX  IL,  Scene  1.). 

"  Come,  let  the  State  j/«j)r"— Page  138. 
Sung  by  Grainevert  in  the  same  act  and  scene,  . 

"  The  Macedon  Youth''— VhGE  138. 
Alexander  the  Great. 

♦Quoted  from  Dr.  Jomicson,  who  suggested  the  first  deriva- 
tion also. 


NOTES.  213 


"  Slices  pretty  to  walk  withP—VKQ.Y.  139 
Sung  by  Grainevert,  ibid. 

•'  Her  health  is  a  stale.^^— Page  139. 
"  A    stale.^'     This    word     is    now   obsolete.         lis 
meaning  here  is  "  a  tempting  ( toast),"  "  an  aliuremeat," 

"    That  dox,  fair  mistress,  which  thou  gav'st  to 
7ncy — Page  139. 
Villanor,  a  cavalier,  i^Brennoralt,  Act  11. ,  'Siccne  I.)  is 
urged   to  do  his  part  in   the  singing  and  responds  in 
this  song.    The  preceding  lines  of  the  play  are  : 
Mar.  Fine  and  pathetical !    Come,  Villanor. 

Vil.  What's  the  matter? 
Mar.  Come,  your  liquor  and  your  stanzas :  Lines,  lines ! 

Vil.  Of  what  ? 
Mar.  Why,  of  anything  your  mistress  has  given  yon. 

Vil.  Gentlemen,  she  never  gave  me  anything  but  a  box 
O'  th'  ear  for  offering  to  kiss  her  once. 

Sir.  Of  that  box  then. 
Mar,  Ay,  ay,  that  box,  of  that  box  ! 

Vil.  Since  it  must  be. 
Give  me  the  poison  then.  \_Drinks  and  spits. 

A  Catch.— Page  140. 
Sung  by  Nassurat,  Pellegrin,  (cavaliers  of  Francelia) 
and  others  in  The  Goblins  (Act  II.,  Scene  I.).    Com- 
pare with  the  following  from  King  Lear  : 

"  The  Prince  of  Darkness  is  a  gentleman, 
Modohe's  call'd  and  Mahu." 
In  Samuel  Harsnet's  "  Declaration  of  Popish  impos- 
tures," the  following  appears  :  "  Maho  was  the  chief 
devil  that  had  possession  of  Sarah  Williams,  but 
anotp.er  of  the  possessed  named  Richard  Mainy,  v/as 
molested  by  a  still  more  considerable  fiend  called 
Modu."    {.Note  in  Hudson's  Edition  of  King  Lear.) 


114  NOTES. 


Both  Shakespeare's  and  Suckling's  lines  are  proba- 
bly founded  upon  something  which  was  old  even  in 
their  times. 

"  When  the  pots  cry  dink  "  — Page  140. 
Edition  of  1836  reads,  "  When  the  poets  cry  clinks 

"  Some  candles  here  !  — Page  140." 
Sung  by  "  a  Poet,"  in  The  Goblins  (Act   1.,  Scene  I.). 
"  Come,  cofne  away,  to  the  taverti,  J  say''' — Page  141. 
Sung  by  "  Actors  "  in  the  The  Sad  One.    "  Signior 
Multicarni,  the  Poet,"  takes  counsel  with  them  as  to  a 
play  which  is  to  be  acted.    The  lines  which  he  speaks, 
preceding  the  verses,  are  : 

"  Come,  let  us  have  one  rouse,*  my  Joves,  in  Aristippus, 
We  shall  conceive  the  better  afterwards." 

"  This  7noiety  ?£;ar."— Page  145. 
Only  half  a  war.      Spoken  by  Grainevert  in  Bren- 
noralt  (Act  IV.,  Scene  I.),  complaining  of  inactivity 
in  camp,  and  welcoming  prospective  fighting. 

^^ Bring  them,  bring  them,  bring  them  in^ — Page   145. 
These  lines  are  sung  by  Tamoren,  "  king  of  the  thieves, 
disguised  in  a  devil's  habit,''  in  The  Goblins  (Act  I., 
Scene  I.). 

"  Welcome,  ivclcome,  mortal  wight" — Page  146. 
Sung  by  Peridor,  one  of  the  thieves,  in  The  Goblins 
(Act  III.). 

"(7  what  a  day  luas  here,"*' — PAGE  146. 
These  are  the  last  lines  of  The  Goblins  and  are  spoken 
by  Orsabrin,  "a  brother  to  the  Prince." 

*Rouse,  a  bumper. 


NOTES.  215 


Sonnets. — Page  149. 
These  three  poems  have  been  given  under  this  head- 
ing in  various  editions.    Of  course,  the  word  sonnet  in 
this  sense  means  simply  "a  short  poem"  and  not  a 
sonnet  proper. 

^^So  to  the  height  and  nick 

We  up  be  zvoundy — Page  151. 
What  matters  it  by  whose  hand  or  by  what  artifice 
we  are  (like  our  watches)  wound  up,  if  the  winding  be 
fully.done  up  to  the  exactly  proper  point  ? 

Dc'sdain.—PAGis.  157. 
The  old  French  given  here  is  exactly  as  in  the  edition 
of  1S36. 

A  POETICAL  Epistle.— Page  169. 
"  This  poetical  epistle  which  has  considerable  merit^ 
is  addressed  by  Suckling  to  his  learned  friend  John 
Hales  of  Eton  ;  he  is  mentioned  in  the  Sessions  of 
the  Poets  and  was  one  of  the  first  disciples  of 
Socinus  in  this  kingdom."  {Note  in  edition  of 
1336.) 

A  Sessions  of  the  Poets.— Page  172. 
Wordsworth  wrote  :  "  The  characters  of  the  poet? 
who  appear  at  the  Sessions  a.re  drawn  with  great  dis- 
crimination, particularly  that  of  the  poet  Jonson." 

Sclden.—F  AG^  172. 
John  Seldcn,  "  the  learned  antiquary.''     Statesman 
as  well,  15S4-1&54. 

Weniman. — Page  172, 
His  works  and  his  name  are  wholly  unknown  to  us. 


21 6  NOTES. 


Sands. — Page  172. 
George  Sandys,  son  of  Edwin  Sandys,  theologian 
and  Archbishop  of  Yorlc.    Published  travels,  poems, 
etc.,  1577-1644. 

Townsend. — Page  172. 
Doubtful  and  of  slight  importance. 

Digby.—VhG^  172. 
Possibly  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  1 603-1 665. 

Shillmgswortk. — Page  172. 
Probably  William  Chillingworth  i6o2(?)-i644.    No 
poems  of  his  are  extant. 

"  Lucan's  translator.'^ — Page  173, 
Thomas  Hay,  15 76-165 2. 

He  that  makes  God  speak  so  big  in^s  poetry." — Page  173. 
Impossible  to  tell  to  whom  this  refers.    Mr.  Hazlitt 
thinks  that  it  may  be  Francis  Quarles. 

Sclwin. — Page  173. 
Unknown. 

IVallcr.— Page  173. 

Edmund  Waller,   1605-1687.       Editions  1658   and 

1836  have    Walter.    Author  of  some  most  charming 

lyrics.    One  of  the  best  known  is,  "  Go,  lovely  Rose." 

Bart  lets. —Page  173. 
Unknown. 

Vaughan — Page  173. 

Sir  John  Vaughan, 1674  :    An  intimate  friend 

of  Selden's. 

Porter.— Page  173. 
Thought  to  be  Edmond  Porter,  who  published  two 
works,  at  least,  in  the  17th  Century. 


A'O  TES.  2  T  7 


"  Gooii old Bc?i."—P\GE  173. 
Ben   Jonson,  15  74-163  7,  the  great   dramatist.     He 
Wis  poet  laureate  at  the    time   that   this  poem  was 
VY.  itten,  (the  year  of  his  death). 

•'  Prepared  before  luith  Canary  wine.''^ — Page  173. 
Refers  to  one  of  the  allowances  made  him  by  Charles 
I.,  '■  one  terce  of  Spanish  wine  yearly." 

'^  Epicane  or    the  Silent   Woman,''  "  The  Eox,''  "  The 
AlchemistP—^KGY.  173. 
Titles  of  some  of  Jonson's  plays. 

Thomas  Carew. — PAGE  174. 
1589-1639,  succeeded  Ben  Jonson  as  poet  laureate. 
Many  of  his  verses  have  great  beauty. 

Sir  William  Davenant. — Page  175. 
160 5-1668,  a  poet  of  but  small  merit  whose  works 
are  almost  wholly  forgotten.  He  wrote  Madagascar 
(referred  to  in  Suckling's  verses  to  the  author)  and  sev- 
eral plays  and  poems.  He  was  one  of  Suckling's  most 
intimate  friends. 

Toby  Matthezvs.—PKGY.  176. 

"  The  reader  will  find  a  long  notice  of  this  eccentric 
character  in  Walpole's  Anecdotes  of  Painting. 

His  Lordship  calls  him  *  one  of  those  heteroclite 
animals  who  finds  his  place  anywhere.  His  father  was 
Archbishop  of  York,  and  he  a  Jesuit.  He  was  sup- 
posed a  wit,  and  believed  himself  a  politician  :  his 
works  are  ridiculous'.  Suckling  has  introduced  him  in 
the  same  manner  as  he  has  '  Jack  Bond  '  and  '  Torn 
Carew.'as  an  occasional  interlocutor  with  himself  in  his 
poems.     His  'v/hispering  nothing  in  somebody's  ear,' 


21 8  NOTES, 


alludes  to  a  ridiculous  habit  he  had  of  whispering  in 
company." — {Note  in  edition  of  1836). 

Wat.  Montague.— VkG^  177. 
Thought   to  be  the  Honourable  Walter  Montague, 
author  of  The  ShephenV s  Paradise. 

''Little  Cid:'—PAGY.  17 8. 
Thought  by  the   Rev  Alfred  Suckling  to  refer  to 
Sidney  Godolphin,  1610-1643.    A  poet  and  a  loyalist. 

Hales.— F  AG'S.  178. 
The  same  to  whom  the  Poetical  Epistle  was  ad- 
dressed.   (See  page  i6g,  and  note,  page  215.) 

Falkla7id.—V  k.G^  178. 
Viscount   Lucius  Gary   Falkland,  1610-1643.     The 
well-known  loyalist.    He  was  an  intimate  friend  of 
Suckling. 

"  Z"'  intreat  he  may  not  be  a  President^' — Page  195. 
President — Precedent. 

*'  Though  kind  last  ^ sizes,  ^ twill  be  now 
severe, — Page  ig6. 
"^'z's.fj"— Assizes,  i.  e.  at  the  trial  of  his  former  play  of 
Aglaura. 

**  Things  that  ne'er  were,  nor  are,  nor  e'er  7mll 
be.-FkG^.  203. 
Comparison  is  made  with  Pope's  lines  : 

"  Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be." 


The   editor  acknowledges  his   indebtedness  to 

the  editions  of  1836  and  1S74,  i',i  con',iectio7i  ivith 

his  preface  and  ?iotes. 

F.  A.  S. 


UNIFORM  IN  STYLE  ANT)  PRICE,  IN 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  &  BROTHER  b  SE- 
RIES OF  DAINTILY  BOUND  POETICAL  WORKS, 
ARE  ; 

GEORGE  ELIOT'S  POEMS. 

THE  SPANISH  GYPSY. 

CHARLOTTE    BRONT]t'S  POEMS. 

THOMAS  GRAY'S   POEMS. 

W.  M.  THACKERAY'S   POEMS. 

GOETHE'S  FAUST. 

HEINE'S  BOOK  OF  SONGS. 

LON  DON  RH  YM  ES/j  Frederick  Locker. 

LONDON  LYRICS,  by  Frederick  Locker. 

THE  GOLDEN  TREASURY,  by  F.  T, 
Palgrave. 

CHARLES  DICKENS'  POEMS. 

LUCILE,  by  Owen  Meredith. 

TENNYSON'S  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

SONGS  FROM  BERANGER,  translated 
by  C.  L.  Betts. 

SONGS    OF   TOIL,  by  Carmen  Sylva. 

LYRA    ELEGANTIARUM,  Locker. 

THE  POEMS  OF  SIR  JOHN  SUCK- 
LING. 

Each   one  Vuiw.m,    \6nto,   onjlne   laid  paper, 
ivide  margins.     {Others  itt. preparation.) 
Limp  parchment-paper              ....  $i.oo 
New  half-cloth,  illuminated  sides,  gilt  top.  i.oo 

Half-calf,  new  colors  .....  2.00 
Limp,  imitation  seal,  round  corners,  gilt  edges  2.50 
Limp  calf,  in  box          .....  3.00 

Tree-calf,  new  colors 3.50 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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